H  A  *  ay 


^ 


SKETCHES 

OF 

YALE     LIFE 


COPYRIGHT,  1885 

BY 
JOHN  ADDISON  PORTER 


SKETCHES    OF    YALE    LIFE: 

BEING       ' 

SELECTIONS,  HUMOROUS  AND  DESCRIPTIVE 

FROM    THE 

COLLEGE  MAGAZINES  AND  NEWSPAPERS 

ARRANGED   AND    EDITED 
BY 

JOHN    ADDISON    PORTER 

Of  the  Class  of  1878 


,  30.  (T. 

ARLINGTON     PUBLISHING    CO. 

CORCORAN      BUILDING. 

i  886 


Unir'ersity  Press 

Tuttie,  Morehouse  &  Taylor 

.Vew  Haven^  Conn. 


INTRODUCTION. 

THIS  little  volume  owes  its  publication  to  a  vacation 
which  the  editor  recently  passed  at  New  Haven.  The 
interest  of  the  subject  had  been,  however,  held  in  mind 
for  some  time,  and  -the  resolve  made  to  offer  the  results 
of  the  study  to  the  public,  if  circumstances  should 
permit. 

The  attempt  to  illustrate  the  social  life  of  a  college 
by  means  of  short,  crisp  articles,  the  work  of  under- 
graduate authors,  writing  in  full  accord  with  the  spirit 
of  their  times,  is,  so  far  as  the  writer  can  learn,  entirely 
unique,  in  this  cou'ntry.  In  some  memorial  volumes, 
such  as  the  "  Harvard  Book  "  and  the  "  Yale  Book," 
certain  phases  of  undergraduate  life,  particularly  ath- 
letics, have  been  fully  and  well  summarized,  from  the 
standpoint  of  the  contributor  who  takes  a  retrospective 
view  of  their  development.  "  Verses  from  the  Harvard 
Advocate  "  and  Yale  "Elm  Leaves  "  do  justice  to  the 
creditable  productions  in  rhyme  which  have  emanated 
from  each  of  these  historic  institutions.  In  the  dainty 
little  volume  of  Professor  Henry  A.  Beers,  modestly 
entitled  "  Odds  and  Ends,"  may  be  found  many  a  re- 
flected sunbeam  of  our  academic  life.  For  its  true  his- 
torical spirit,  and  the  richness  of  its  statistical  informa- 


VI  INTRODUCTION. 

tion,  "  Four  Years  at  Yale  ;  by  a  Graduate  of  "69," 
ranks  as  a  classic  in  student  literature. 

The  numerous  so-called  "college  novels"  have  con- 
tributed their  share,  or,  perhaps,  more  than  their  share, 
towards  picturing  the  typical  New  England  colleges. 
But  the  element  of  fiction  is  much  stronger  than  reality 
in  all  of  them.  Some  flatter  ;  others  libel  ;  few  or  none 
give  true  insight  into  what  the  American  student  com- 
munity is  when  not  dressed  up  in  holiday  attire  for 
public  inspection. 

This  volume,  on  the  contrary,  is  really  a  glimpse  be- 
hind the  scenes.  In  making  his  selections,  the  editor 
has  sought  neither  to  enforce  any  theories,  nor  to  point 
any  morals,  but  simply  to  portray  Yale  student-life  of 
the  past  half  century  exactly  as  he  found  it,  believing  that 
if  this  were  done  adequately,  the  volume  could  not  fail 
to  interest  members  of  other  colleges,  as  well  as  Yale 
men,  and  even  that  portion  of  the  reading  public 
which  is  inclined  to  sympathize  with  the  literary  efforts 
of  young  men. 

All  attempts  at  "fine  writing"  have  been  rigorously 
excluded  from  these  pages.  Likewise  "  prize-pieces," 
however  superior  in  maturity  of  thought  and  literary 
finish,  were  obviously  out  of  place  in  this  book.  The 
only  liberty  the  editor  has  allowed  himself  with  the 
text,  excepting  a  few  verbal  corrections,  was  occa- 
sional condensation.  Editorial  notes  were  deemed 
superfluous,  in  view  of  the  class  of  subjects  treated  ; 
they  speak  for  themselves  quite  emphatically  enough. 


INTRODUCTION.  vii 

Most  of  the  pieces  appeared  originally  in  the  Yale 
Literary  Magazine  ;  the  others  in  the  Yale  Record  and 
Yale  Cottrant. 

That  the  collection  contains  some  of  the  early  work 
of  men  who  have  afterwards  become  distinguished,  is  a 
fact  which  will  probably  render  it  not  the  less  attrac- 
tive to  the  general  reader.  Nevertheless,  it  would 
hardly  be  courteous  or  fair  to  these  gentlemen  to  dis- 
close their  identity.  For  it  should  not  be  forgotten 
that  all  of  the  papers  which  compose  this  book  were 
written  with  no  thought  of  ever  reaching  other  than 
student  eyes  ;  that  many  of  them  were  doubtless  hastily 
penned  ;  and  that  others  are  probably  very  far  from  ex- 
pressing the  present  opinions  of  their  authors.  What- 
ever merit  they  may  possess,  must  be  ascribed  not  to  the 
borrowed  plumage  of  dignified  names,  but  rather  to  the 
invariable  good  humor,  frankness  and  vivacity,  and  the 
occasional  keenness  and  depth  displayed  by  cultured 
young  men  in  writing  of  themes,  scenes  and  incidents 
near  and  dear  to  them  at  a  very  impressionable  period 
of  their  lives. 

The  editor  closes  his  congenial  task  by  respectfully 
asking  that  his  effort  may  be  received  with  the  cour- 
teous consideration  which  is  usually  granted  to  an  ex- 
periment, and  hoping  that  the  results  of  his  research 
may  be  judged  creditable  to  American  student-life  in 
general,  and  to  his  Alma  Mater  in  particular. 

J.  A.  P. 
NEW  HAVEN,  November,  1885. 


CONTENTS. 


INTRODUCTION 


COLLEGE   BUILDINGS i 

South  Middle 3 

The  Old  Chapel 10 

A  Room  in  Divinity 13 

The  Library  by  Moonlight 18 

Odd  Corners  of  the  Campus 24 

The  College  Bell .       .28 

DORMITORY   LIFE 33 

Under  the  Elms 35 

On  the  Fence 37 

Third  Term  Loafing 43 

Hearthstones 47 

The  Steam  Devil       .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .54 

Rainy  Days .60 

A  Night  in  "Our  Entry" 64 

Under  the  Eaves 68 

Who  and  Where  ? .73 

"Where  do  you  Room?"       ....'.      77 
Hobbies 84 

PEN    PORTRAITS 89 

The  Man  about  College .91 

The  Dun 94 

The  Sweep 99 

The  Bore 105 

The  Sponger no 

The  Croaker .        .        .114 

The  Chum  .        . 117 

The  Successful  Landlady 121 


CONTENTS. 


MANNERS   AND  CUSTOMS 126 

Singing 129 

Bowing 136 

Sleeping 141 

Class-Room  Manners 146 

The  Club 149 

Slang 154 

Whist 158 

CLASS-ROOM   HUMORS 165 

Reflections  on  a  Great  Bugbear 167 

Examinations 174 

Analytical  Algebra 178 

Balbus 184 

IMPEDIMENTA 191 

My  Umbrella 193 

My  Pipe 198 

M}'  Stove 204 

My  Clock 209 

DESCRIPTIVE   PIECES .213 

Thimble  Islands 215 

Ambulatory 222 

Our  Sailors 227 

Monologue  on  Tin  Cans 235 

The  Old  University  Shell 241 

Vagaries 950 

Quinnipiac 254 

Ducking 257 

MISCELLANEOUS  ARTICLES 263 

A  Vacation  in  Old  Clothes 265 

Long  Vacations 371 

Freshman  Rains 275 

Moriarty's 280 

Smoking 284 


COLLEGE    BUILDINGS. 


0o till) 

IF  the  thousand  strange  and  varied  feelings  which 
rise  up  in  the  breast  of  Mr.  Verdant  Green,  as  in  com- 
pany with  paterfamilias  or  materfamilias,  he  parades 
for  the  first  time  Yale  College  campus  in  search  for 
Graduates'  Hall  could  be  skillfully,  and  withal  truth- 
fully recorded,  they  would,  in  my  opinion,  form  an 
article  of  no  little  interest  and  amusement.  I  judge 
at  once  from  analogy  and  observation  when  I  say  that 
one-half  of  every  Freshman  class  experiences  a  feel- 
ing of  disappoinment  when  first  it  sees  its  Alma  Mater, 
so  far  as  she  can  be  seen  in  her  buildings.  I,  for  my 
part,  have  very  distinct  recollections  of  my  first  sen- 
sations as  I  stood  and  gazed  up  at  those  wondrous  elms 
and  down  at  that  fabled  fence,  and  felt  myself  really 
beholding  at  least  the  casket  of  that  jewel  for  obtaining 
which  I  had  spent  my  youthful  strength  over  hard  Virgil 
and  harder  Xenophon.  Was  the  fence  always  as  unin- 
viting as  it  then  seemed  to  me?  Were  the  elms  always 
inhabited  by  worms,  and  the  grass  on  the  much-talked- 
-of  green  always  as  brown  and  irregular  as  at  the  time  of 
my  entrance  examination  ?  The  only  men  whom  I  saw 
on  the  campus  were  tutors  scowling  under  the  weight 
of  examination-papers,  or  Seniors  bargaining  over  their 
last  articles  of  furniture  with  the  second-hand  men. 
I  wondered  why  the  divinity  buildings,  which  seemed 
the  most  commodious  and  pleasant  of  all  the  dormi- 
tories, should  be  appropriated  to  the  use  of  the  Theo- 


4  COLLEGE   BUILDINGS. 

logues,  and  thought  that  when  I  got  in  college,  there 
was  where  I  would  choose  to  room.  I  criticized  the 
wooden  turrets  of  Alumni  Hall,  but  found  some  matter 
for  admiration  in  Durfee  and  Farnam.  But  when  I 
turned  my  lordly  eyes  toward  "the  old  brick  row," 
which  contained  the  most  considerable  number  of 
Yale's  buildings,  who  could  describe  my  feelings  of 
contempt?  I  estimated  them  in  a  sort  of  declining 
series — North,  North  Middle,  South  and  South  Middle. 
I  persuaded  myself  that  it  might  be  possible  for  a  gen- 
tleman's son,  seeking  to  experience  Yale  social  life  in 
every  aspect,  to  try  a  year  in  North  or  North  Middle, 
with  its  modern  improvements,  in  case  he  could  not  get 
into  Durfee  or  Farnam.  But  I  winked  wisely,  and  in- 
formed my  guide  that,  although  I  was  a  sub- Freshman, 
I  was  not  such  a  fool  as  to  believe  that  rooms  in  South 
were  ever  among  the  first  choices  on  the  campus,  or  that 
any  respectable  men  of  their  own  accord  chose  to  make 
the  woe-begone  South  Middle  their  residence.  And 
though  I  went  home  elated  by  my  "  white  paper,"  yet 
my  joy  was  tempered  by  the  thought  of  how  much  room 
for  improvement  there  was  in  our  college,  and  of  how  I 
for  my  part  would  have  to  forego  till  Junior  year  the 
far-famed  dormitory  life  at  Yale. 

My  hasty  condemnation  of  South  Middle  at  that 
time  was  but  a  striking  instance  of  the  evil  of  judging 
simply  from  external  appearance.  I  have  since  had 
occasion  to  change  my  opinion,  but  never  on  account 
of  any  different  impression  it  has  made  on  my  vision. 
It  stands  to-day,  as  it  has  stood  for  many  years,  in  every 
architectural  sense,  a  blot  and  a  monstrosity.  I  might 
go  so  far  as  to  say  that,  with  a  thorough  acquaintance 
with  its  interior  peculiarities,  it  seems  even  more  re- 
pulsive to  me  in  this  one  sense,  than  it  did  at  first. 


SOUTH   MIDDLE.  5 

The  simplicity  in  the  design  of  South  Middle  can 
hardly  be  called  regal  ;  the  brick,  though  not  of  the 
Philadelphia  manufacture,  to  which  Mr.  Mitchell  takes 
exception,  lacks  beauty  in  more  senses  than  one,  with 
its  blotched  and  irregular  surface,  deformed  and  un- 
gainly, with  shutters  varying  through  all  conceivable 
shades  of  green  and  blue,  rotten  and  leaky  roof,  low, 
square  windows  and  diminutive  panes  of  glass,  sharp 
angles  everywhere,  and  a  generally  reckless  disregard  of 
all  laws  of  symmetry,  it  easily  belies  the  description, 
"  aedes  h&c  nitida  et  splendida"  made  of  it  at  its  dedication. 
Dismaying,  indeed,  the  appearance  of  a  South  Middle 
room  when  at  the  beginning  of  Sophomore  year  you 
stroll  into  your  destined  home  !  The  low  ceilings, 
which  you  can  easily  reach  with  your  hand,  the  bare  and 
irregular  floor,  the  damp  and  chilling  atmosphere,  dirt 
and  dust  everywhere,  and  over  in  one  corner,  piled  to- 
gether in  hopeless  confusion,  your  slender  stock  of 
furniture,  upon  which  alone  you  can  rely  to  make  an 
Elysium  out  of  this  Hades.  I  will  not  say  that  pa- 
tience and  taste  will  not  go  far  in  doing  this,  and  not- 
withstanding the  exclusion  of  tall  articles  of  furniture, 
make  comfortable  and  cosy  what  at  first  seemed  so  in- 
tractable. But  there  are  certain  inherent  natural  objec- 
tions which  no  art  can  overcome.  If  you  would  go  into 
the  hall  after  dark,  you  do  so  at  your  own  risk,  for  the 
stairs  are  irregular  and  full  of  treacherous  wavelets, 
and  posts  are  numerous,  and  lights  there  are  none. 
Bed-rooms  are  either  pf  moderate  size,  dark,  and  with- 
out ventilation,  or  else  just  large  enough  to  get  an  iron 
bedstead  in,  but  boasting  a  diminutive  window,  while 
there  are  no  closets  at  all,  except  where  you  crowd  your 
scanty  store  of  coal  and  wood,  when  you  are  lucky 
enough  to  have  any.  Some  go  so  far  as  to  say  that 


6  COLLEGE   BUILDINGS. 

South  Middle  is  unhealthy.  But  their  constitutions 
are  weak,  and  such  as  are  likely  to  suffer  in  a  room 
close  to  suffocation,  with  its  low  ceiling,  if  you  shut  the 
windows,  and  puffing  in  countless  colds  if  you  open 
them.  For  them,  neuralgia  perches  on  their  four  bed- 
posts, while  ague,  rheumatism  and  consumption  frisk 
sportively  from  under  the  doors,  through  the  windows 
and  around  the  corners  of  the  walls. 

These  seem  objections  sufficient  to  restrain  the  rash- 
est  from  any  longing  to  test  practically  the  qualities  of 
South  Middle,  and  that  it  is  occupied  at  all  would 
seem  to  imply  the  existence  of  a  very  rigid  and  unjust 
law  of  the  Faculty  which  compels  students  to  inhabit 
rooms  so  unfit  for  habitation  that  to  avoid  them  they 
would  leave  college  were  it  not  for  their  greater 
desire  to  graduate  from  Yale.  But  strange  as  it  may 
seem,  this  is  by  no  means  the  case,  and  yet  a  vacant 
room  is  seldom  found  in  South  Middle.  Year  after 
year,  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  aristocrat  and  ple- 
beian, join  in  a  frantic  rush  for  the  privilege  of  living 
in  this  wretched  shanty.  Men  bred  in  the  lap  of  luxury 
and  accustomed  to  every  convenience,  with  perfect 
willingness  submit  to  such  miseries  as  only  South  Mid- 
dle can  supply.  There  is  a  charm  about  this  old  build- 
ing which  acts  like  a  magnet  on  Yale  men,  and  which 
must  be  based  on  grounds  capable  of  explanation.  The 
reason  is  altogether  a  mental  one,  and  has  to  do  with 
every  phase  of  college  social  life.  Not  to  go  too  far 
into  this  subject  and  attempt  to  analyze  a  thing  which 
by  its  very  nature  defies  any  such  attempt,  there  is,  in 
the  first  place,  the  mental  satisfaction  which  one  feels 
at  his  release  from  the  clutches  of  that  ringleted  fiend, 
the  New  Haven  boarding-house  keeper,  as  she  has  been 
so  happily  called,  and  your  lordly  sense  of  freedom  as 


SOUTH   MIDDLE.  7 

you  know  yourself  master  in  toto  of  your  own  actions 
so  long  as  you  are  out  of  recitation-room.  These  old 
disfigured  walls  tell  no  tales  which  will  bring  down 
upon  you  the  righteous  indignation  of  some  poor  lone 
widow,  if  you  indulge  in  an  invigorating  game  of  hand- 
ball against  them.  She  who  exercised  a  royal  sway 
over  you  during  Freshman  year  to  the  tune,  perhaps,  of 
eleven  p.  M.  at  the  latest,  and  no  noise  at  any  time,  has 
been  gathered  to  her  fathers,  and  you  yourself  reign  in 
her  stead.  Come  in  at  seven  o'clock,  if  you  please, 
or  come  in  at  one  o'clock,  or  do  not  come  in  at  all,  and 
you  yourself  alone  are  made  more  happy  or  more  un- 
happy thereby.  There  are  laws,  to  be  sure,  which  are 
supposed  to  put  some  limit  on  individual  freedom,  but 
their  very  existence  when  their  penalties  may  never  be 
incurred,  or  may  be  avoided  by  an  agile  dash  into  your 
bedroom,  only  imparts  an  additional  flavor  to  breaking 
them.  For  instance,  here,  if  you  want  to  sing,  and  it  is 
in  hours,  you  can  sing, — and  if  it  is  not  in  hours,  you 
can  sing  just  the  same.  At  least  so  I  have  found  it. 
There  is  an  indescribable  mental  pleasure  in  feeling 
yourself  limited  by  no  bonds  except  such  as  you  wil- 
lingly form  for  yourself.  But  pleasant  as  these  things 
may  be,  they  touch  simply  on  the  surface  of  the  matter. 
It  is  the  men  whom  you  meet  and  the  society  which  you 
enjoy  which  constitute  the  chief  charms.  Here  is  a 
variety  of  company  suited  to  every  varying  mood  of 
the  mind.  When  you  have  been  reading  or  studying  . 
and  dozing  at  the  same  time  till  you  are  weary  and  dis- 
gusted, you  can  scour  the  building  in  search  of  a  con- 
genial atmosphere  in  which  to  rest  yourself. 

I,  for  my  part,  never  could  agree  with  the  oft-re- 
peated sentiment  that  it  would  be  a  blessing  if  old 
South  Middle  would  fall  down  or  burn  down,  some 


8  COLLEGE  BUILDINGS. 

time  when  no  one  happened  to  be  in  it.  Apart  from  all 
considerations  of  a  sentimental  character,  as  to  the 
claims  of  such  a  relic  of  antiquity,  but  simply  as  a  dor- 
mitory, I  would  that  South  Middle  stand  for  ever.  It 
seems  to  me  that  as  much  solid  enjoyment  can  never 
be  gotten  out  of  the  modern,  fashionable  buildings 
which  are  usurping  our  campus,  as  these  irregular  and 
unsubstantial  structures  afford.  There  is  an  astonish- 
ing charm  about  these  low  ceilings  and  these  cramped 
walls.  We  do  not  want  the  stiff  and  staid  elegancies  of 
a  parlor  in  a  student's  room.  The  tasteful  arrange- 
ment of  nick-nacks  and  memorabilia  about  the  walls  of 
a  South  or  a  South  Middle  room,  in  a  college  man's  in- 
imitable style,  and  the  open  fire,  which  I  beg  to  state,  is 
no  myth,  furnish  a  far  more  attractive  ideal  to  my 
mind,  than  the  tinted  walls,  gorgeous  chandeliers,  steam 
radiators,  standing  like  so  many  tombstones  to  the 
memory  of  a  departed  fire,  and  expensive  tapestries 
which  are  necessary  in  Durfee  or  Farnam.  It  is  inter- 
esting to  see  with  what  pleasure  an  alumnus  when  in 
town  comes  once  more  to  visit  his  room  in  South  Mid- 
dle. One  of  the  rooms  is  pointed  out  as  the  one  which 
Chancellor  Kent  occupied  when  he  was  in  college.  A 
story  is  told  of  his  expressing  a  desire  one  time  when 
he  was  in  the  city  here,  some  thirty  or  forty  years  after 
he  had  graduated,  to  see  his  old  room.  Of  course  it 
was  occupied,  and  the  Chancellor  coming  to  the  door, 
knocked.  The  occupant,  whoever  he  was,  was  with- 
out any  expectation  of  such  a  visit,  and  sitting  in  his 
shirtsleeves  with  his  feet  upon  the  window  sill,  cried 
,s •"'*  out  with  genuine  South  Middle  accent,  "  Come  in." 
His  confusion  at  the  sight  of  a  venerable  gentleman 
was  somewhat  of  the  same  character  as  that  which  many 
of  us  have  felt  when  surprised  over  his  ponies  by  some 


SOUTH   MIDDLE.  9 

intruding  tutor,  or  in  some  equally  pleasant  position  by 
some  equally  welcome  visitor  ;  but  the  Chancellor  sim- 
ply remarked,  by  way  of  opening  the  conversation, 
In  this  room,  in  precisely  that  position,  forty  years 
ago,  I  resolved  that  I  would  become  Chancellor  of  the 
State  of  New  York — and  I  became  sp." 


HALF  a  hundred  years  have  passed  away  since  the 
old  Chapel  was  dedicated.  Scarcely  as  imposing  as  to 
say  "  thirty  centuries  are  looking  down  on  you,"  nor  is 
it  more  than  a  mere  child  beside  the  ancient  halls  of 
Oxford  and  Cambridge.  It  is  not  hoary  with  age  nor 
has  it  moss-grown  columns  upon  which  one  could 
moralize.  Still,  for  the  country,  it  is  respectable  in 
years,  while  certainly  no  one  who  has  enjoyed  its  hos- 
pitality would  wish  to  have  its  life  prolonged. 

Just  fifty-two  classes  have,  one  after  another,  sat  on 
those  hard  benches,  and  while  vainly  trying  to  sleep, 
have  mentally  execrated  the  inventors  of  those  instru- 
ments of  torture.  During  all  these  years  they  have 
sought  for  soft  spots  on  the  boards,  or  for  a  comfortable 
corner,  from  which  they  could  enjoy  the  learned  disqui- 
sitions which  have  emanated  from  that  pulpit.  The 
hacked  and  carved  seats  tell  of  restless  bodies  and  idle 
hands  for  which  Satan  could  find  no  other  occupation 
than  the  school-boy  amusement  of  cutting  out  initials 
or  class  numerals.  Our  earliest  predecessors,  however, 
do  not  seem  to  have  left  their  marks  behind  them. 
Either  they  were  more  reverent  or  possessed  fewer 
pocket-knives  than  the  present  profane  and  sacrilegious 
generation.  Probably  the  embryo  Theologues  of  1824 
looked  on  the  Chapel  as  a  wonderfully  fine  and  spacious 
edifice,  and  would  as  soon  have  thought  of  defacing 
its  furniture  as  we  will  of  marking  the  rich  frescoing  of 


THE   OLD  CHAPEL.  II 

the  new  temple.  The  wheezing  of  the  organ  was  to 
them  the  most  glorious,  dreadful  music,  the  singing  of 
the  choir  was  "  angel  voices."  No  daring  sinner  ever 
ascended  the  steeple,  fastened  there  some  flaunting 
banner,  and  then  descended  into  the  arms  of  the  watch- 
ful tutor.  They  did  not  paste  "flushes"  on  the  win- 
dows before  morning  service,  or  abstract  the  cushions 
to  make  bonfires  and  illuminations.  What  a  shock  it 
would  have  been  to  those  sober-minded  youths  to  have 
required  them  to  worship  beneath  the  gilded  roof  of  our 
new  Chapel,  and  how  surely  would  they  have  condemned 
its  gorgeous  decorations  as  papistical  and  as  works  of 
the  devil.  Yet  it  must  at  times  have  waked  their  carnal 
natures  to  be  dragged  out  of  bed  at  six  o'clock  on  a 
cold  morning  to  attend  prayers,  or  brought  in  again  at 
half-past  four,  and  on  the  Sabbath  to  have  two  outpour- 
ings of  the  vials  of  wrath.  It  is  little  wonder  that  so 
many  of  those  sufferers  have  gone  to  another  land  from 
the  effects  of  two  chapels,  and  no  "  Retreat "  or  "  Nest  " 
to  refresh  the  wearied  flesh. 

During  fifty-two  years  the  tide  of  college  life  has 
flowed  through  the  old  Chapel.  Year  after  year  the 
Freshmen  have  come  in  for  the  first  time,  wandering 
around  to  find  their  seats,  and  have  lingered  at  the  dpor 
to  bow  to  the  President  or  escort  out  the  tutors.  Year 
after  year  the  Seniors  have  studied  diligently  during 
prayers  and  then,  cramming  their  books  into  their  pock- 
ets, have  risen  to  bow  gravely  and  dignifiedly  to  the 
President.  The  snab  who  first  prinked  and  fluttered  in 
the  gallery,  in  modest  unconsciousness  of  the  hundred 
eyes  fastened  on  them,  have  been  long  married  to  the 
unfortunate  youths  who  then  in  blind  fatuity  sat  by  their 
side.  Three  Presidents  in  turn  have  graced  that  pulpit 
and  have  expounded  orthodoxly  and  learnedly  to  the 


12  COLLEGE   BUILDINGS. 

faithful,  while  the  unregenerated  slept  or  played  jack- 
straw^  ;  many  generations  of  tutors  have  occupied  those 
proscenium  boxes,  and  have  watched  sharply  for  delin- 
quents, or,  of  a  less  censorious  nature,  have  quietly  over- 
looked them. 


&  ftoom  in  iDimnitg. 

WHAT  I  took  to  be  an  evil  destiny,  in  the  form  of  last 
choice  for  rooms  on  the  campus,  much  against  my  will 
banished  me  to  Divinity,  and  yet  like  Parthenia  among 
the  Allemanni,  what  I  had  looked  forward  to  as  exile,  I 
found  very  tolerable. 

The  Theologue  is  a  genus,  which  I  may  vulgarly 
call  sui generis.  I  know  little  of  him,  and  when  I  do, 
it  is  seldom  under  the  most  favorable  circumstances. 
I  have  met  him  crossing  the  campus  wheeling  the  ma- 
ternal baby-carriage  and  leading  two  four-year  old 
twins  and  the  "dolly"  after  him,  as  he  edifies  his 
friends  from  out  of  town  with  anecdotes  of  "  those 
boys  with  so  much  animal  spirit,"  and  points  to  the 
Italian  gothic  of  the  Chapel,  comparing  it  with  the 
earlier  style  of  the  Library.  Those  of  us  who  are 
lounging  on  the  Durfee  steps  smile  at  the  genus, 
think  him  a  fruitful  pastor,  wonder  who  took  the  meas- 
ure of  his  inexpressibles,  and  then  turn  to  a  new  sub- 
ject. I  meet  him  again  with  a  steaming  pail  of  oat 
meal,  which  he  is  carrying  up  to  a  club  of  no-body- 
knows-how-many,  but  which  we  may  call  the  x  quan- 
tity oat  meal  mess.  The  smell  of  oat  meal  hangs 
about  that  room  where  a  dozen  hungry,  empty  disciples 
are  devouring  twenty-five  cents'  worth  of  the  farinace- 
ous compound.  At  another  time  I  find  a  student  of 
theology  peddling  reserved  seats  to  a  show  at  the  the- 
atre, extorting  from  the  gentiles  that  they  may  build  a 


14  COLLEGE   BUILDINGS. 

temple  at  Jerusalem  ;  I  see  them  playing  hand  ball  in 
the  yard,  with  the  spirits  of  a  senior  Kindergartener  and 
the  activity  of  a  two  days  old  bull  pup.  Broadcloth 
pants  are  carefully  tucked  up  ;  those  that  can  afford 
the  luxury,  indulge  their  vanity  to  the  extent  of  a 
gorgeous  boating-shirt  from  Malley's,  with  fancy  work 
around  the  edges  and  a  flaring,  bold,  bad  anchor  on  the 
broad  breast.  I  look  down  from  our  tower  on  Divinity 
at  this  odd  mixture  of  human  and  divine  and  wonder 
why  they  don't  "  brace  up  and  be  somebody," — enter  a 
crew  at  Saltonstall,  get  up  a  nine,  start  a  run  of  hare 
and  hounds  and  stop  their  baby  antics  where  every- 
body passes  by  and  sees  them. 

I  am  not  apt  to  be  indulgent  towards  those  with  whom 
I  am  not  in  sympathy.  This  is  a  natural  feeling  and 
one  which  underlies  the  real  friendships  we  form  in 
college.  It  is  the  secret  of  the  bond  which  unites  class- 
mater  at  Yale  more  than  at  any  other  college  in  this 
country  that  we  know  of.  The  social  life  is  most  inti- 
mate, and  it  is  not  unsafe  to  say,  most  generous  and 
pure.  We  see  each  other  from  all  sides  and  under 
every  imaginable  circumstance.  We  learn  each  other's 
vanities,  foibles  and  strong  points.  We  gravitate  in- 
stinctively to  those  with  whom  we  are  in  sympathy,  al- 
though we  do  not  on  that  account  lose  interest  in  the 
rest.  But  as  the  corps  to  a  West  Pointer,  so  is  the  class 
to  us.  All  beyond  are  Philistines.  We  are  to  them  the 
most  ungracious  of  men.  We  do  not  seek  their  good 
will,  and  they  must  be  suave  indeed  who  receive  any 
from  us.  I  sit  with  my  feet  on  the  window  sill,  and 
muse  as  I  contemplate  the  broad  row  of  the  opposite 
building  as  it  cuts  off  part  of  the  most  exquisite  view 
in  New  Haven.  On  my  right  I  glance  beyond  the  ro- 
coco tower  of  North  Church,  the  composite  of  the 


A   ROOM   IN   DIVINITY.  15 

State  House  and  the  beautiful  gothic  of  Trinity,  to  the 
rolling  country  beyond  the  harbor  and  across  Long  Isl- 
and Sound.  To  my  left  I  am  irritated  by  the  interfer- 
ence of  a  building  for  Theologues.  Let  us  watch  them 
as  they  appear  to  us.  The  last  rays  of  the  sun  are  light- 
ing up  that  side  and  disclose  at  the  first  window  the 
Turk.  We  call  him  the  Ttirk  for  his  conceit  and  grav- 
ity. He  has  received  a.  fez — a  gorgeous  crimson  fez — 
from  a  missionary  cousin  in  Bulgaria,  and  sports  this 
Turkish  trophy  with  the  satisfaction  of  one  who  expects 
to  be  a  missionary  some  day  and  fight  the  Moslem  faith 
from  under  a  Moslem  fez.  He  stands  at  the  window 
now  and  surveys  his  sportive  friends  below.  Fools 
they  are  to  him,  who  waste  the  precious  hours  which 
should  be  devoted  to  a  higher  work.  Next  room  con- 
tains a  parlor  organ — but  worse  than  that,  the  The- 
ologue  sits  and  pumps  the  chronic  spasms  of  jagged 
melody  from  its  ancient  chest  with  Christian  fortitude, 
happy  in  the  thought  that  physical  exercise  is  not  in- 
compatible with  devotion  in  the  shape  of  variations  on 
the  Missionary  Hymn.  As  every  other  Theologue  room 
contains  an  organ  in  every  state  of  preservation,  tune 
and  pitch,  I  shall  omit  any  further  mention  of  them  in 
this  brief  catalogue  of  pious  vanities. 

I  now  see  a  Theologue  before  his  glass — yes,  before 
the  mirror.  Is  he  shaving,  adjusting  his  white  tie, 
smoothing  the  clerical  lock?  None  of  these.  I  weep 
as  I  pen  the  words — he  is  practicing  the  benediction. 
His  hands  are  raised.  "Is  that  right?  No,  the  angle 
of  the  fore-arm  and  index  have  not  the  real  pulpit 
angle.  Ah,  this  is  better,"  and  after  a  few  more  pre- 
paratory efforts,  the  dress  rehearsal  is  given  with  closed 
eyes  and  moving  lips,  the  congregation  is  dismissed,  the 
prospective  parson  brushes  his  cylinder  stove  pipe, 


1 6  COLLEGE   BUILDINGS. 

smooths  his  Prince  Albert,  and  I  hear  the  door  close  as 
he  leaves  the  twilight  to  appear  in  the  role  of  a  shepherd 
before  an  audience  who  shall  say,  "  How  graceful  Mr. 
Sleeker  is."  The  next  window  reveals  the  pulpit  ora- 
tor, the  future  Adirondack  Murray.  He  gesticulates  to 
the  setting  sun,  apostrophises  the  lightning-rod  on 
West  Divinity,  points  to  Hades  in  the  ewer  and  threatens 
perdition  to  the  gas-burner.  I  can  hear  him  from  my 
seat  at  the  window,  when  the  air  is  still.  So  on  through 
the  various  rooms  of  these  future  preachers,  at  whose 
feet  we  may  some  day  be  listening,  as  we  listen  to  Dr. 
Hall  or  our  own  pastor.  To-day  we  see  but  the  un- 
gainly, loquacious,  green,  sportive  Theologue.  We  see 
in  him  the  type  of  the  man  who  came  down  to  Kahn's 
dispensing  wagon  and  asked  the  driver  if  anybody  was 
sick  and  if  he  might  help  carry  up  that  heavy  box  of 
medicines ;  we  see  in  him  the  man  who  ropes  in  the 
little  girl  that  peddles  tooth-picks  and  supports  two 
fathers  and  eleven  brothers,  gives  her  a  twenty  minutes' 
lecture  on  annihilation,  predestination  and  homiletics, 
and  sends  her  away  with  a  paper-collar  box  to  the 
woman  who  waits  for  her  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  and 
swears  at  the  stinginess  of  Theologues,  who  would 
"  rob  a  poor  man  of  his  beer."  I  see  in  the  Theologue 
to-day  a  type  of  the  man  who  became  so  infatuated  at 
the  sound  of  a  banjo  duet,  that  he  crept  up  from  his 
room,  applied  his  ear  to  the  keyhole  and  remained 
there  until  a  post-grad,  from  across  the  way  rushed  out 
and  caught  him  in  the  act.  The  ice  was  broken,  the 
Theologue  entered,  and  the  ears  that  vibrated  to  "  Old 
Hundred,"  accorded  none  the  less  to  "  Old  Dan 
Tucker"  and  "Susan  Jane."  Such  is  life.  The  The- 
ologue is  human.  He  enjoys  life  when  he  may,  but  for 
the  most  part  he  has  not  the  ubi  cum  omne.  He  would 


A   ROOM   IN   DIVINITY.  17 

be  one  of  us,  but  finds  the  gulf  too  broad  to  span.  He 
is  perforce  extremely  proper  outwardly,  for  his  living  is 
to  be  made  by  the  exercise  of  strictly  proper  qualities. 
His  success  in  his  ministry  depends  probably  somewhat 
upon  the  character  for  propriety  he  leaves  behind  him 
at  the  Seminary.  With  us  it  is  different.  We  act  as  we 
feel,  provided  we  keep  out  of  the  way  of  marks  and 
warnings.  We  care  next  to  nothing  for  what  the  Fac- 
ulty may  think  of  our  course  of  action,  except  in  so  far 
as  we  may  respect  the  opinions  of  men  whom  we  re- 
spect. We  can  never  sympathize  with  the  Theologue, 
his  path  is  too  far  from  ours  ;  we  can  not  admire  him, 
for  we  don't  see  that  he  possesses  in  any  preeminent 
degree  the  qualities  that  we  admire  in  our  fellows.  I  can 
study  him.  He  deserves  and  will  repay  careful  study. 
Psychologically  we  have  a  rare  subject  here,  and  if  for 
no  other  reason  than  this,  I  claim  for  the  tower  of  West 
Divinity  a  place  in  the  catalogue  of  desirable  college 
rooms. 


Cibrarj)  b£ 

"  And,  oh !  how  charm'd 
Beneath  her  loveliness,  creation  looks." 

— MONTGOMERY. 

MOONLIGHT  has  a  thankless  mission  within  college 
precincts. 

Othenvheres  it  is  heartily  welcomed.  Childhood  pays 
it  tribute  in  the  celebration  of  time-honored  games, 
which  are  never  so  unreal,  and  yet  never  so  full  of  real 
enjoyment,  as  when  it  smiles  upon  them.  It  is  youth's 
golden  dreamtime,  whose  fantasies,  though  over- 
wrought, lend  heart  and  hope  to  the  otherwise  droop- 
ing energies.  Lovers  need  its  mystic  influence  to  hide 
the  roughness  and  bring  out  the  ideal  in  the  two  lives 
just  venturing  out  toward  each  other.  Maturity  leans 
upon  its  staff,  and  thanks  the  moonlight  for  an  hour  of 
rest — of  forward  and  backward  looking — of  calm,  un- 
impassioned  thought.  Age,  too,  wishes  benisons  upon 
it,  as  it  creeps  inch  by  inch  over  the  sleepless  couch, 
calling  up — like  some  fabled  necromancer — the  pano- 
rama of  by-gone  days. 

But  college  is  so  strong,  and  hale,  and  self-reliant, 
that  it  will  not  be  beholden  to  so  intangible  an  agency. 
In  the  first  place,  a  score  of  roofs  uplift  their  brown 
shingles  athwart  its  beams,  and  whole  battalions  of 
chimneys  and  towers  hold  guard,  as  if  moonlight  were 
as  ruinous  to  young  intellects  as  is  rain  to  the  glossy 
beavers  wherein  young  intellects  reside.  Then,  hard 


THE   LIBRARY   BY   MOONLIGHT.  IQ 

upon  the  roofs  press  the  tree-tops,  clad  in  dense  foliage, 
and  swaying  backward  and  forward,  as  if — like  sentinels 
— they  would  demand  the  passward  of  any  stray  moon- 
beam that  might  attempt  to  smuggle  its  pretty  self 
within  the  forbidden  domain.  But,  fortunately,  tree- 
tops  sometimes  fall  into  a  reverie  ;  they  move  slowly 
and  more  slowly  along  their  beat,  and  at  last,  coming  to 
a  full  stop,  compose  themselves  for  a  nap.  Then  it  is 
that  the  elfish  moonlight — which  is  not  asleep,  but  wide 
awake — steals  cautiously  over  the  stained  brick  walls, 
and  transforms  the  homely  walks  into  mosaics,  and 
rests  here  and  there  in  little  squares  upon  the  grass. 
But  it  finds  no  flowers,  no  shrubs,  no  garden  alleys,  no 
cool  springs,  no  whispering  fountains.  A  fitful  princess, 
it  has  stolen  from  the  paradise  of  an  oriental  monarch, 
and  finds  itself  amid  the  plain  details  of  a  northern 
camp.  And  just  as  it  is  getting  a  little  at  home,  and  is 
beginning  to  offset  its  wretchedness  by  the  satisfaction 
of  having  eluded  the  sentinels,  and  is,  perhaps,  a  little 
comforted  by  the  notes  of  some  soul-stirring  song, 
what  breaks  upon  it  but  some  cruel  burlesque  of  real 
music,  or  the  boisterous  shouts  of  returning  merry- 
makers, or  the  twanging  of  the  irrepressible  horn  ? — 
sounds  unearthly  enough  to  frighten  braver  folk  than 
princesses.  And  if  it  lives  down  all  these  difficulties, 
and  begins  its  real  mission  ;  if  it  seeks  to  woo,  for  an 
hour,  some  young  soul  away  from  the  technicalities  of 
books,  away  from  the  weary  conflicts  of  an  inner  life 
seeking  after  light,  away  from  the  narrowness  and  self- 
seeking  and  littleness  and  faithlessness  into  which  that 
soul  had  strayed  ;  and  if  the  young  soul  listens,  and  is 
•wooed,  and  with  glad  surprise  feels  the  shackles  loosen, 
the  selfishness  remove,  the  clouds  vanish,  and  a  new 
future  dawn  for  his  self-abhorrent  self,  and  his  poor 


20  COLLEGE  BUILDINGS. 

deluded,  much-enduring  race, — whom  has  the  moon- 
light for  a  co-worker  but  some  student,  who — with  no 
difficulties  to  settle,  no  problems  to  solve,  and  no  un- 
utterable yearnings  to  be  silent  over — bursts  in  upon 
his  thoughtful  friend,  and  scatters  all  the  light  by  de- 
claring him — for  now  the  thousandth  time — "moon- 
struck?" 

To  this  general  hostility,  one  building  on  the  square 
is  a  notable  exception.  Buttresses  rise  with  its  walls, 
and  climb  into  minarets  above  them.  From  a  higher 
elevation  graceful  arches  look  down  upon  these ;  and 
above  the  arches  rise  other  minarets,  above  which,  in 
turn,  slender  towers  hold  sentinel.  These  adornments 
attract  rather  than  repel  the  moonlight,  and  about  them 
it  flits  in  joyous  gambols.  The  trees  are  taught  not  to 
interfere ;  and  though  there  is  a  lack  of  landscape 
gardening  about  the  old  buttresses,  clambering  ivies 
atone,  in  a  measure,  for  its  absence.  The  building 
enjoys  a  tolerable  exemption  from  the  discord  of  other 
quarters,  and  seldom  does  an  intruder  break  the  spell 
which  the  moonlight  throws  about  it. 

A  grand  spectacle  is  this  building — the  College 
Library — of  a  moonlight  night:  a  spectacle  to  dream 
over,  to  muse  over,  to  think  soberly  over. 

It  was  the  evening  of  a  matchless  October  day.  The 
air — balmy  as  summer — was  yet  just  cool  enough  to 
make  one  reflect  with  comfort  that  it  was  autumn — that 
golden  prelude  to  frosty  mornings,  and  falling  nuts,  and 
Thanksgiving  joys.  At  this  season  there  comes  over 
college  a  spirit  which  appears  at  no  other  time.  The 
mental  rustiness  which  has  crept  over  us  during  the 
long  vacation  is  just  disappearing,  the  fine  Fall  days 
put  all  in  the  best  of  spirits,  and  the  year,  with  its  plans 
of  pleasure  and  achievement  lies  before  us,  a  bright, 


THE   LIBRARY   BY   MOONLIGHT.  21 

unsullied  page.  Though  the  leaves  are  growing  sear,  it 
is  college  spring-time. 

But,  at  this  evening  hour,  the  day's  routine  was  over, 
and  everybody — with  a  delicious  sense  of  freedom — was 
making  the  very  most  of  the  leisure  season.  So  it  came 
about  that  there  was  a  quiet,  satisfied  murmur  up  and 
down  among  the  college  buildings,  reminding  one  of 
the  sounds  which  issue  from  a  bee-hive  at  twilight. 
Hours  like  these  are  to  college  the  counterpart  of  those 
domestic  joys  which  the  future  whispers  of,  and  happy 
will  it  be  for  that  future  if  the  same  spirit  of  cheerful- 
ness and  good  will  and  undaunted  purpose  pervades 
those,  which  is  the  life  of  these. 

Before  the  open  windows  of  a  back  room  of  North 
Middle,  I  leaned  back  in  a  cozy  arm-chair,  and  yielded 
to  the  spirit  of  the  hour.  Soon  the  Library,  in  all  the 
glory  of  the  harvest  moon,  gave  texture  to  my  reverie. 
The  moonlight  fell  upon  it  from  the  front,  so  that  the 
shadows  seemed  lost  within  the  building  itself,  and  all 
that  was  visible — from  my  stand-point  at  least — was 
bathed  in  one  mild  radiance.  This  building,  thought  I, 
treasures  within  its  recesses  nearly  a  hundred  thousand 
volumes.  In  so  large  a  collection  of  books,  a  majority 
stand  a  chance  of  being — and  in  this  case  I  know  that 
they  are — the  works  of  authors  long  since  dead  :  and  all 
are  so  scrupulously  guarded,  and  so  tenderly  cherished 
that  the  remainder  will  be  in  excellent  preservation 
when  their  writers  have  mouldered  into  dust.  These 
volumes,  too,  hold  a  different  position  from  that  of  their 
fellows — old  and  new — gathered  here  and  there  in 
private  collections.  Those  may  become,  in  an  hour,  the 
prey  of  devouring  flames,  or  like  Roscoe's,  they  may 
fall  from  the  auctioneer's  hammer  to  "  pigmies  rummag- 
ing the  armory  of  a  giant ;"  and  at  best  they  are  objects 


22  COLLEGE   BUILDINGS. 

of  suspicion  or  ridicule  oftener  than  of  welcome.  These, 
on  the  other  hand,  are  preserved  from  the  elements  by 
massive  walls  and  heavily  mailed  doors.  One  by  one — 
the  votive  offerings  of  generations — they  have  been 
gathered,  and  no  remorseless  creditor  will  ever  stretch 
forth  his  hand  to  defile  their  garments.  They  form 
themselves  into  a  kind  of  literary  commonwealth,  and 
all  who  enter  their  domain,  do  so  with  awe,  if  not  with 
reverential  love.  They  are  so  located,  moreover,  that 
they  form  the  penetralia  whence  great  teachers  draw 
their  choicest  lore :  to  them  resort  writers  and  thinkers 
of  the  country  round,  and  hundreds  of  youth  feel,  while 
among  them,  their  first  deep  thirst  for  broad  research, 
and  drink  in  from  them  their  first  long  draught.  These 
books,  then — the  condensed  summaries  of  the  best 
thoughts  and  best  labors  of  multitudes  of  lives — are 
silently  doing  a  great  work  :  in  fact,  now  that  their 
writers  are  gone,  or  are  soon  to  go,  the}'  become  their  rep- 
resentatives, each  in  its  nook  ever  young  with  the  spirit 
of  some  toiler  whose  weary  frame  is  long  ago  at  rest. 

At  thoughts  like  these,  the  library  ceased  to  be  a  dull 
old  building,  by  day  the  resort  of  book-worms,  and  by 
night  a  nonentity.  It  became,  instead,  a  spacious 
palace,  peopled  with  thousands  of  intelligencies  which 
had  gathered  from  every  age  and  clime  here  to  take  up 
their  residence.  The  other  buildings — seemingly  so 
astir  with  life  and  thought — dwindled  away  till  they 
seemed  like  shelter-tents  about  the  pavilion  of  an 
emperor :  and  as  for  their  indwellers,  who  seemed,  an 
hour  before,  such  prodigies  of  culture  and  excellence, — 
these,  too,  shrunk  away  till  they  became  puny  dwarfs, 
creeping  in  and  out  the  low  tent  doors,  and  strutting 
about  with  ridiculous  pomp  at  the  discovery  of  some 
cast-off  feather  of  knowledge. 


THE   LIBRARY  BY   MOONLIGHT.  23 

Then  what  a  brightness  hovered  about  this  abode  of 
books  !  No  dark  shadows  yawned  here  and  there,  re- 
pulsive from  their  somberness,  or  frightful  from  their 
mystery,  or,  at  best,  a  mar  to  the  prevailing  brightnes's. 
And  yet  it  was  not  a  dazzling  splendor.  One  did  not 
shrink  blinded  from  the  sight.  There  was  no  exceed- 
ing brightness  to  hide  defect,  or  to  repulse  lesser  lights, 
or  to  depict  all  with  self-satisfied  ostentation.  This 
mellow  glory  ! — how  fit  a  mantle  seemed  it,  to  be  hung 
nightly  about  this  hallowed  edifice  !  How  in  keeping 
with  the  great  spirits  which  had  taken  up  their  abode 
within  ! 

And  now  they  were  at  rest.  Night  had  sent  life's 
half-reluctant  toilers  to  their  cups,  their  revels,  their 
lusts.  To  these  silent  workers  it  brought  relaxation, 
also  ;  but,  like  the  etherealized  spirits  which  they  repre- 
sented, they  had  no  consuming  passions  to  satiate. 
With  the  twilight  they  had  left  their  toil,  to  rest.  Such 
were  the  dwellers  at  the  library,  such  their  abode,  and 
such  their  work.  How  glorious  it  all  seemed  under 
that  harvest  moon  !  And  had  not  hundreds  of  Yale 
students  entered  the  pathway  to  the  self-same  glory? 


QTorners  of  tl)e 

WE  are  many  in  number  and  are  confined  to  a  nar- 
row extent  of  country,  but  notwithstanding,  there  are 
only  too  many  unvisited  parts  of  Yale  College — parts 
which  will  repay  a  moderate  degree  of  exploring,  and 
that  in  our  own  territory,  without  making  dangerous 
incursions  into  the  lands  of  the  outer  barbarians — the 
Law,  Medical  and  Art  Schools.  Were  it  not  for  fear  of 
giving  offense,  we  might  include  our  half-brother,  the 
S.  S.  S.,  with  the  rest.  For  all  these  places  are  to  the 
average  Academic  student  as  unknown  as  the  gloomy 
recesses  of  the  subterranean  cavern  to  which  the  gnome- 
like  Waite  is  supposed  to  flee  from  the  frozen-out 
furies  of  the  steam-heated  room.  Our  knowledge  of 
the  Scientific  School,  outside  of  a  few  personal  friends, 
is  confined  to  the  fact  that  each  year  brings  forth  a 
swarm  of  young  men  who  do  not  come  on  the  campus, 
but  remain  with  us  for  a  season  and  never  become 
Sophomores.  Our  perception  of  the  presence  of  the 
Art  School  is  called  into  being  by  a  pair  of  Raphael- 
like  heads  of  hair,  and  an  occasional  lecture,  attended 
for  the  sake  of  the  aesthetic  snab.  Of  the  rest  we 
would  know  nothing,  were  it  not  for  the  occasional  in- 
telligence that  one  who  was  formerly  with  us  is  with  us 
no  more,  but  has  departed  to  the  Law  or  Medical  sub- 
urbs ;  then  we  have  the  feeling  they  are  with  us  indeed, 
but  not  of  us.  Many  indeed  are  the  parts  of  the  cam- 
pus we  never  feel  obliged  to  favor  with  our  company. 


ODD  CORNERS  OF  THE  CAMPUS.          25 

Even  in  Alumni  Hall,  to  which  the  Jubilee  serves  as  a 
yearly  introduction,  a  sort  of  New  Year's  day,  when  the 
old  hall  receives  all  its  friends  and  unbends  a  little 
from  its  usual  cold  dignity  and  reserve,  there  are  laby- 
rinths to  which  not  one  in  the  thousand  eager  climbers 
toward  the  Temple  of  Wisdom,  ever  penetrates.  Like 
an  old  feudal  castle,  it  has  secret  passages,  hidden 
stairways  and  unsuspected  rooms  ready  for  all  emer- 
gencies. Often  has  the  wily  Sophomore  sacrificed  the 
blade  of  his  knife  upon  the  Yale  lock  only  to  find  him- 
self conducted  by  a  new  route  to  his  flunking  room. 
Then,  too,  from  that  mysterious  room  over  the  door, 
often  are  heard  the  deep  notes  of  an  organ  played  at  all 
uncanny  hours,  in  defiance  of  the  powers  that  be.  The 
mystery  is  not  indeed  in  regard  to  the  identity  of  the 
musician,  but  did  you  ever  think  who  pumped  the 
organ  ?  When  the  sweet  strains  cease,  there  comes  but 
one  veiled  figure  forth  ;  it  cannot  be  possible  that  one 
person  runs  it.  There  must  be  some  chained  captive 
in  the  dungeons  beneath,  where  they  keep  the  masto- 
don. Perhaps  it  is  Waite.  Men  have  frequently 
searched  the  campus  so  thoroughly  that  there  are  but 
few  places  still  left  for  theory  to  assume  as  his  abiding- 
place. 

Then  there  is  the  Observatory  in  the  top  of  the 
Athenaeum  tower.  There  is  also  room  for  observation 
here.  Passing  up  those  stairs  where  I  used  to  throw 
my  Euclid,  and  later  on,  some  other  man's  Chauvenet, 
I  pass  on,  up,  above  where  I  used  to  stop,  and  if  you 
follow  the  example  of  most  explorers,  you  find  a  trap- 
door by  violently  striking  your  head  against  it.  Having 
passed  all  obstacles  you  find  yourself  in  a  circular 
room,  and  greatest  pleasure  of  all,  you  have  only  to 
turn  a  crank  and  you  seem  to  be  moving  the  universe. 


26  COLLEGE  BUILDINGS. 

Your  dreams  are  more  than  realized — the  earth  revolves 
around  you.  But  upon  closer  examination  you  will 
discover  that  the  upper  part  alone  revolves  and  your 
bubble  breaks.  As  an  entirely  secondary  thought,  it 
would  be  a  good  thing  to  take  a  look  through  the  tele- 
scope, merely  because  the  certain  disappointment  you 
will  experience  is  only  what  you  might  expect  from  the 
previous  deception  in  regard  to  the  room  itself.  The 
matter  stands  exactly  thus  :  if  you  put  on  a  low  power, 
you  see  a  large  extent  of  nothing  more  than  you  can 
see  with  your  naked  eye  ;  with  a  high  power  you  can 
see  the  same  more  plainly,  at  least  that  is  what  you  are 
told  ;  but  if  you  are  wise  you  wijl  make  no  bets  on  the 
subject.  The  only  object  really  worth  seeing  with  that 
telescope  is  the  City  Hall  clock  ;  it  fills  the  whole  field 
of  the  telescope,  and  makes  you  feel  as  if  you  were 
alone  with  Time.  Going  down  stairs  again  is  even  more 
exciting  than  going  up,  because  it  is  so  much  simpler 
to  fall  down  stairs  than  up  stairs. 

Just  back  of  Alumni  Hall  there  is  an  underground 
railway ;  at  least  it  sounds  impressive  to  say  so,  but  in 
reality  it  is  a  little  car  on  two  iron  rails,  for  carrying 
coal  to  the  telephone-like  furnaces,  whose  vibrations 
have  been  the  cause  of  so  many  articles  in  the  college 
periodicals.  In  this  living  tomb  below  are  immured 
three  or  four  men  who  are  to  blame  for  all  the  unearthly 
racket  of  the  steam-fiend.  And  yet  they  are  allowed  to 
pass  unmolested  through  the  campus,  and  are  even 
looked  up  to  and  respected  by  those  who  have  wan- 
dered into  their  special  kingdom.  At  least  two  more 
places  deserve  to  be  thoroughly  explored.  One  is  that 
half  of  the  laboratory  building  which  is  only  familiar  to 
us  as  an  inexhaustible  mine  for  ail  sorts  of  philosophi- 
cal apparatus.  It  seems  sometimes  like  a  sort  of  dark 


ODD   CORNERS   OF  THE   CAMPUS.  27 

chamber,  from  which  proceed  the  materialized  spirits  of 
those  vague  conceptions  of  the  apparatus  in  the  Physics 
with  which  we, — at  least  those  of  us  whose  names  ap- 
pear but  once  in  the  Catalogue, — enter  into  a  recita- 
tion. 

One  day,  not  long  ago,  an  assistant  was  sent  into  this 
dark  cabinet  with  one  end  of  a  telephone,  and  he  failed 
to  appear  for  three  days.  He  probably  traced  his  way 
back  in  the  manner  of  Theseus,  by  means  of  the  wire. 
The  Cabinet  building  is  almost  entirely  an  unknown 
territory,  and  in  its  cellar,  or  rather  basement,  there  is  a 
sort  of  virgin  forest.  A  single  glance  through  its  dusty 
panes  is  enough  to  convince  anyone  of  the  truth  of  this 
statement.  Our  only  hope  is  that,  now  the  Peabody 
Museum  is  finished,  the  contents  of  these  and  other  curi- 
osity shops  may  be  placed  out  in  plain  view,  and  Yale 
College  at  last  become  aware  of  how  much  it  is  worth. 
They  probably  possess  untold  millions  in  old  iron  and 
wooden  boxes  ;  enough  at  least  to  build  a  new  Dormi- 
tory. 


OClje  College  Sell. 

"  Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells, 
Of  the  bells,  b,ells,  bells,  bells, 
Bells,  bells,  bells." 

— EDGAR  A.  POE. 

THE  present  College  bell  that  swings  over  the  Lyceum 
has  been  in  use  now  twelve  years.  How  many  prede- 
cessors came  before  it,  or  where  they  have  gone  to,  his- 
tory saith  not.  It  may  be  interesting  to  the  readers  of 
the  Lit.  in  these  latter  days,  to  hear  how  the  Editor, 
twelve  years  ago,  welcomed  the  bell. 

"  We  have  one  point  yet  to  touch  upon,  which  affords 
us  great  pleasure.  We  refer  to  the  new  bell.  What  a 
luxury !  Some  good  genius — some  good  genius  of 
acoustics  must  be  hovering  over  us.  We  thought  when 
the  old  bell  was  cracked,  we.  should  'ne'er  look  upon 
its  like  again.'  But  we  are  wandering  from  our  text ; 
we  ought  to  have  said,  we  feared  we  should  ne'er  hear 
'  its  like  again.'  But  never  mind  about  that.  Acoustics 
and  optics  are  not  more  than  a  term  apart.  And  well 
we  might  have  entertained  such  fears,  for  a  while,  be- 
cause the  second  bell  was  not  acquainted  with  the  first 
principles  of  College  duty.  Why,  the  good-for-nothing 
old  tinnalntliim  (at  the  same  time,  we  don't  wish  to  in- 
sult the  bell  by  calling  it  a  '  door-bell,'  or  a  '  cow-bell,') 
couldn't  '  even  turn  over.'  What  a  Kararopo^ !  But 
what  should  occur  in  the  'winter  of  our  discontent,'  but 
a  new  bell  arrival  !" 

With  such  execrable  wit  was  the  advent  heralded. 
The  complete  brass  with  which  the  Latin  is  robbed  of 
half  its  tin  and  the  Greek  spoiled  of  every  accent, 
would  put  the  Editor  of  the  present  times  to  the  blush. 


THE   COLLEGE  BELL.  2Q 

What  more  distinct  proof  could  we  wish  of  the  rise  in 
Yale  scholarship  within  the  last  decade  !  And  then  the 
bold  familiarity  which  pervades  the  whole  passage,  as 
well  as  the  disregard  of  all  analysis  of  the  organs  of 
sense-perception,  bear  equal  evidence  of  the  lament- 
ably low  state  of  the  moral  and  mental  sciences.  That 
old  bell  had  a  bad  effect  upon  the  College.  And  in- 
deed it  must  have  been  a  miserably  poor  one.  In  com- 
parison with  it,  the  present  substitute  is  pronounced 
lra  luxury,"  even  though  unable  to  turn  over;  and 
when  the  grateful  Editor  beheld  it  with  his  ears,  as  he 
seems  to  have  done  in  his  "wanderings,"  he  acknowl- 
edged the  presence  of  at  least  two  good  genii-,  hovering 
o'er  him  up  in  the  Lyceum  dome. 

When  one  first  comes  to  New  Haven,  there  is  nothing 
that  confuses  him  so  constantly  as  the  number,  variety 
and  continual  ringing  of  bells.  There  are  the  bells  of 
all  the  churches  round  the  city  green,  which  ring  on 
every  conceivable  occasion  whenever  anything  is  to  be 
done  or  not  done.  There  is  the  bell  at  the  depot,  which 
rings  every  time  a  train  is  expected  to  come  or  go. 
There  are  the  numberless  shirt  factories  and  carriage 
factories,  each  of  which  has  its  own  particular  bell,  and 
its  own  particular  time  for  ringing  it.  All  these  bells 
besides  chime  in  the  hours  according  to  their  own 
peculiar  chronology,  so  that  noon  is  any  time  between 
11:45  A.M.  and  12:15  A.  M.  And  to  swell  the  harmony, 
there  is  the  College  bell,  which  warns  the  student  when  in 
the  morning  to  turn  over  for  his  last  nap  ;  when,  an  hour 
afterward,  to  go  to  breakfast,  and  in  three  minutes 
again,  to  come  back  to  prayers  ;  which  rings  every  half 
hour  for  the  time,  and  every  half  hour  for  a  recitation  ; 
which  proclaims  the  anniversary  of  every  meal  ;  and 
after  the  shades  of  night  begin  to  fall,  calls  alike  to 


3O  COLLEGE  BUILDINGS. 

prayer-meetings  or  large  society — the  revival  of  religion, 
or  the  decay  of  eloquence.  One  would  almost  think 
Mr.  Poe  was  a  Yale  student,  when  he  sang  his  "  tintinna- 
bulation," except  that  he  makes  no  allusions  to  the  bell 
of  Alma  Mater,  unless  it  be  in  those  misanthropic  ones, 
which 

"  In  that  muffled  monotone, 
Feels  a  glory  in  so  rolling, 
On  the  human  heart  a  stone." 

I  say  it  is  hard  for  the  new-comer  to  learn  the  pecu- 
liar note  of  the  College  campana,  on  which  alone  he 
must  depend  for  punctuality  at  College  exercises.  Does 
one  object,  "Why  depend  upon  the  bell  alone?  Are 
watches  and  clocks  impossible  to  the  student?"  My 
friend,  there  be  watches  many  and  clocks  many  ;  there 
be  those  that  go  by  springs  and  those  that  tick  to  the 
swing  of  the  pendulum  ;  there  is  time  solar  and  sidereal. 
But  he  that  would  carry  College  time,  must  swear 

"  By  the  moon,  the  inconstant  moon, 
That  monthly  changes," 

not  only,  but  also  several  times  a  day.  It  is  hard  at 
first  to  distinguish  the  College  bell,  but  the  power  is 
acquired  at  last ;  and  before  he  ends  his  course,  pro- 
vided that  end  be  not  premature,  the  Senior  knows  by 
heart,  not  only  the  moments  when  the  ringing  must 
commence,  but  the  proper  succession  of  every  stroke, 
and  even  the  number  of  times  the  tolling  will  be  con- 
tinued. He  knows  the  worthy  ringer  tolls  on  the  aver- 
age 125  beats  for  the  "  last  bell  "  before  prayers  ;  that  he 
rings  on  the  average  50  at  10:30  A.  M.;  140  at  11:30;  40 
for  dinner  and  supper  ;  while  for  service  on  a  Sunday, 
he  pulls  till  he  is  tired,  and  then,  his  cheeks  all  rosy 


THE  COLLEGE  BELL.  31 

with  the  exercise,  and  his  whole  soul  filled  to  overflow- 
ing with  the  melody  of  the  ringing,  he  hies  away  to  the 
Chapel  choir  to  rid  himself  of  this  superfluous  music. 

At  11:25  A.  M.  the  college  campus  is  undisturbed, 
save  by  some  wandering  footstep  ;  within  five  minutes 
the  old  bell  is  pealing  its  loudest  clangors,  and  troops 
of  votaries  press  from  every  quarter  to  the  various  out- 
croppings  of  the  "  pierian  spring."  It  is  easy  to  recog- 
nize the  student,  all  ungowned  as  he  is,  among  the 
townspeople,  by  that  classic  air  that  always  will  sur- 
round him — that  otium  cum  dignitate  he  wears  like  a 
garment.  But  no  less  surely  will  you  here  distinguish 
the  various  classmen  from  each  other  ;  whether  it  be  the 
"  grave  and  reverend,"  as  he  calmly  strolls  along,  or  the 
Sophomore,  for  the  time  being  awed  by  a  presence 
greater  even  than  this,  or  the  neophyte,  with  hurried 
foot  stumbling  through  the  unused  paths,  while  his 
anxious  eyes  become  inflamed  over  the  Greek-fire  of 
Professor  James  Hadley,  M.A.  It  is  astonishing  with 
what  suicidal  haste  these  underclassmen  rush  to  the 
torture.  The  poet  has  manfully  noted  it : 

"  One  more  unfortunate 

Sophomore  wight, 
Rashly  importunate, 

Gone  to  recite." 

Yet  you  are  right,  gentlemen.  Delay  not.  Procrasti- 
nation is  the  thief  of  time,  and  punctuality  a  saver  of 
marks  unto  matriculation. 


DORMITORY   LIFE. 


Hnber  tljc 

GROUPS  under  the  elm-trees  !  Groups  under  the  elms 
just  after  dinner,  when  everybody  prefers  a  pipe  and 
a  comfortable  sprawl  in  the  grass,  to  climbing  up  four 
flights  of  stairs  and  translating  Undine,  or  cramming 
for  Biennial  !  Under  the  elms  these  hot  days,  where 
so  carelessly,  so  lazily  and  so  deliciously  cool  we 
lie,  reading,  joking,  laughing,  smoking,  peeping  out  at 
times  from  the  thick  shade,  at  the  old  iron  pointers, 
which  spasmodically  twitch  along  towards  recitation  time 
and  quickly  drawing  back  our  heads  with  the  gratifying 
assurance  that  we've  a  half  hour  yet  before  beginning 
the  old,  old  fight  with  books,  the  flesh  and  the  devil  ! 

Under  the  elms  five  minutes  before  the  clanging  of 
the  remorseless  old  sentinel  in  Lyceum  belfry  !  What 
a  fluttering  and  sometimes  cutting  of  leaves  !  What  a 
racing  through  the  whole  lesson  to  catch  some  cue 
which  will  enable  colloquy  men  to  save  an  inglorious 
fizzle,  and  philosophicals  to  make  a  triumphant  rush. 
What  varied  expressions  of  countenance  !  Here  smil- 
ing complacency,  there  scowls  ;  this  man  whistles,  that 
one  swears  ;  here  the  serenity  of  indifference,  there  the 
serenity  of  despair.  Now  the  bell  begins  to  ring.  What 
slow  and  toilsome  ascent  up  the  narrow  stairs  !  What 
a  sudden  bolting  into  the  recitation  room  as  the  last 
stroke  dies  away,  and  the  door  closes  with  a  slam  be- 
hind the  last  loiterer,  and  upon  a  division  meekly  ex- 
pectant of  the  hour's  worse  contingencies. 


36  DORMITORY   LIFE. 

Under  the  elms  in  early  evening !  Here  groups  of 
men  ring  out  our  grand  old  Student  songs,  and  all  cares, 
all  study,  everything  but  good  fellowship  forgotten,  join 
their  hearts  and  voices  to  the  richness  of  the  harmony 
which  fills  and  dies  upon  the  air.  What  magic  there  is 
in  those  old  songs,  to  be  sure  !  What  an  enchantress  to 
drive  away  despondency,  loneliness,  trouble,  and  "  thou 
child  of  the  devil  " — the  blues  !  Here  the  enthusiasm, 
the  jollity,  the  earnestness  and  the  friendship  of  our 
College  life  find  fitting  expression,  and  after  a  good  sing 
our  hearts  feel  lighter  and  our  sleep  is  sweeter  ;  for  in 
the  matchless  eloquence  of  song,  we  have  given  utter- 
ance to  the  common  purposes,  sympathies  and  hopes, 
which  make  up  the  unity  of  our  daily  life. 

Under  the  elms  in  the  solemn  hush  of  midnight !  No 
enthusiasm  of  an  hour,  no  fitful  excitement  now,  but  an 
unbroken  silence,  while  the  clear  stars  and  the  pale 
moon  shed  their  mild  radiance  upon  us.  This  the  hour 
for  serious  thought  and  searching  self-inspection.  This 
the  hour  for  struggling  doubts  and  hopes.  This  the 
hour  to  call  up  the  follies  of  the  past,  and  as  they  troop 
in  long  procession  by,  to  look,  shudderingly  it  may  be, 
at  what  we  were — thankfully  and  yet  sorrowfully  for 
what  little  of  good  we  are — and  earnestly  hopeful  for  a 
better  day,  by  and  by,  for  us  and  for  all  men. 

Under  the  Elms  once  more  !  The  last  song  has  been 
sung,  and  we  stand  with  clasped  hands  now.  A  few 
moments  more,  and  the  class,  which  for  four  long  years 
has  trod  the  same  weary  round,  and  shared  the  common 
pleasures  and  cares  of  student-life,  goes  out  from  this 
old  place — out  from  its  studies  and  associations — out 
from  its  speculations  and  castle  buildings — out  into 
action  and  the  world. 


©n  tl)c  feme. 

^Forsan  et  hac  olfm  meminisse  juva.bit" 

— VIRGIL. 

RETURNING  from  an  after-supper  walk  the  other 
evening,  I  came  upon  the  college  fence  in  its  best  estate. 
It  was  a  pleasant  evening,  with  a  dry  warmth  such  as 
one  rarely  finds  in  New  Haven  weather  ;  the  elms,  with 
their  bewitching  curves,  were  crowned  with  one  mass  of 
greenery  ;  while  through  their  shadows  shone  here  and 
there  from  out  of  college  windows  the  glimmer  of 
lamps — reminding  one  that  the  "  literary  exercises  "  had 
their  devotees,  even  on  such  an  evening  as  this.  On 
the  fence  were  groups  of  students  ;  and  just  in  front  of 
one  of  these  congregations  a  couple  of  little  brown- 
skinned  vagabonds  were  singing  "  with  the  spirit "  to 
the  tinkle  of  a  harp  and  the  squeal  of  a  violin,  in  expec- 
tation of  a  plenteous  harvest  of  pennies. 

I  stopped  at  a  sufficient  distance  to  be  clear  of  the 
magnetism  which  always  hovers  about  a  crowd,  and 
wondered  to  myself  how  one  could  describe  the  fence. 
To  say  that  it  was  so  many  lengths  long,  so  many  rails 
high,  or  stood  in  such  and  such  a  place,  would  be  very 
much  like  describing  the  college-chambers  by  giving 
their  length,  breadth  and  height,  the  number  of  bed- 
rooms each  contained,  together  with  the  closets,  shelves, 
etc.,  but  omitting  all  mention  of  the  traditions  and  quaint 
memorials  with  which  each  room  is  full  ;  the  goodly 
fellowships,  the  honest  life-long  friendships  which  dwell 
therein  ;  the  wit  and  wisdom,  the  songs  and  stories, 


38  DORMITORY   LIFE. 

which  hover  about  these  contracted  dwelling-places  ; — 
in  short,  by  mentioning  the  mortar  and  brick,  but  leaving 
out  the  mind  and  human  nature.  Disregarding,  then, 
the  mere  physicial  data  and  looking  simply  at  that  part 
of  college  life  which  may  be  summed  up  in  the  word 
fence,  I  thought  I  had  happened  upon  a  phase  of  human 
experience  such  as  could  be  found  nowhere  outside  of 
college,  and  one  well  worthy  of  examination. 

The  fence  is  a  regular  part  of  the  college  curriculum. 
Although  it  really  ranks  among  the  higher  studies — not 
being  taken  up  until  the  second  year — yet  it  has  a  cer- 
tain influence  upon  a  man  from  the  time  he  first  comes 
here.  I  dare  say  no  sub-freshman  ever  came  to  Yale 
without  asking  some  question  of  a  man  on  the  fence  ; — 
and  indeed  it  seems  quite  natural  that  this  should  be  so, 
for,  as  he  beholds  the  rows  of  men  sitting  thereon,  he  at 
once  imagines  that  these  are  reliable  persons  whom  the 
Faculty  have  placed  in  this  prominent  position  for  the 
purpose  of  giving  such  directions  and  information  as 
strangers  may  wish  to  get.  He  regards  it  at  this  time 
with  great  complacency  and  not  a  little  condescension. 
The  member  of  the  "  incoming  class,"  however,  finds 
his  position  changed  when  he  at  last  gets  his  white 
paper  and  becomes  de  facto  a  member  of  college.  Sud- 
denly he  discovers  that  the  atmosphere  of  the  fence  is 
unfavorable  to  his  health.  As  he  finds  it  necessary  to 
remain  at  a  distance  from  it,  its  value  increases.  It  be- 
comes a  divinity  to  him  ;  and  from  the  safe  retreat  of 
Hoadley's  he  worships  it  in  devout  admiration.  The 
passion  grows.  He  gets  to  giving  quite  as  much 
thought  to  that  coming  white  day  when  he  can  sit  on  the 
fence  with  impunity,  as  to  his  rank  as  a  scholar — while 
it  is  probably  that  his  chances  of  ever  sitting  thereon 
would  be  materially  increased,  if  he  thought  less  about 


ON  THE   FENCE.  39 

it  and  more  about  his  studies.  Mayhap,  if  bold  enough, 
he  watches  for  a  rainy  night,  when  passers-by  are  few 
and  upper-class  men  are  elsewhere,  and  at  the  witching 
hour  of  twelve  seats  himself  in  the  long  coveted. posi- 
tion— a  second  ^Eneas,  in  the  Elysian  plains  without  any 
pater  Anchises. 

Sophomore  year  is  the  "  open  sesame  "  to  this  unique 
chapter  of  delights  ;  and  perhaps  at  this  time  there  is 
the  most  persistent  sitting  on  the  fence,  just  for  the  sake 
of  sitting  there,  of  any  time  during  the  college  course. 
It  possesses  all  the  delights  of  newness  and  superiority. 
The  privilege  of  perching  one's  self  on  the  topmost  rail 
has  all  the  fascination  for  new-fledged  sophomores  that 
swinging  on  the  front  gate  has  for  children  of  a  smaller 
growth.  This  feeling,  however,  wears  away.  And  yet, 
during  the  entire  second  year,  it  seems  to  me  that  the 
fence  plays  a  prominent  part  in  the  life  of  college  men. 
Wherever  the  egg  of  class  mischief  may  be  laid,  it  is 
pretty  sure  to  be  hatched  somewhere  near  the  fence. 
The  society  songs  are  sung  there  ;  and  now  and  then  a 
bit  of  college  politics  comes  in  for  spice  withal,  and  this, 
should  chance  permit,  may  be  "  arranged  "  at  the  fence. 
Beside :  the  ineffable  glory  of  watching  the  envious 
freshmen  is  no  mean  addition  to  the  pleasures  of  the 
fence  during  sophomore  year. 

Junior  year  inducts  a  man  into  something  more  than 
this  vulgar  pleasure.  The  third  year,  notwithstanding 
its  politics  and  its  various  displays  of  swallow-tails,  is 
a  kind  of  an  Indian  Summer  epoch.  And  the  fence  is  no 
exception.  It  is  no  longer  a  new  thing,  and  a  year's  ex- 
perience has  taken  away  much  of  the  fancied  notion  of 
superiority.  The  roystering  song  which  chronicled  the 
transition  of  freshmen  into  sophomores  now  gives  way 
to  madrigals  and  mission-school  hymns.  The  taste, 


40  DORMITORY   LIFE. 

too,  has  become  somewhat  more  critical.  No  longer 
does  a  nudge  or  a  whispered  (as  though  it  were  a  second 
Augustan  age) 

"  O  crus !    O  brachia  !rt 

mark  the  passing  by  of  every  woman.  In  short,  juniors, 
"though  not  clean  past  their  youth,  have  yet  some 
smack  of  age  in  them,  some  relish  of  the  saltness  of 
time."  The  change  in  location  shows  this.  In  sopho- 
more year  the  fellows  look  toward  the  sun-rising ;  in 
junior  year  they  face  to  the  southward.  It  is  a  tropical 
period. 

Senior  year,  it  appears  to  me,  must  open  "  fresh  fields 
and  pastures  new."  The  seniors  have  taken  their  last 
hitch  on  the  fence.  The  jollity  of  sophomores,  the  self- 
satisfied  pleasantness  of  juniors,  is  now  succeeded  by  a 
touch  of  sentiment.  The  future,  which  rarely  troubles 
the  average  college  man,  demands  some  consideration  ; 
and  that  is  always  a  sobering  thing  to  do.  Perhaps, 
however,  the  change  which  is  inevitable  is  the  more 
thought-breeding.  To  kick  a  chair  out  of  doors,  how- 
ever rickety  and  deceitful  it  may  be,  is  not  a  pleasant 
undertaking  for  the  sensitive  man. 

"  We  cannot 

Buy  with  gold  the  old  associations." 

And  more  especially  is  this  true  in  the  case  of  leaving 
college.  There  is  not  one  of  us,  probably,  even  among 
those  who  have  been  here  the  briefest  time,  but  has  at 
one  time  or  another  cursed  Yale  college  and  everything 
connected  with  it ;  and  yet  to  leave  this  old  mother  after 
a  four  years'  attachment  to  her  apron-strings  is  no 
pleasant  matter  for  the  coldest  and  most  selfish  among 
us.  This  approaching  separation  is  the  ghost  that 
haunts  the  senior  section  of  the  fence.  The  excitement 


ON  THE   FENCE.  4! 

of  pitching  pennies,  of  spinning  tops,  of  playing  at  leap- 
frog, cannot  exorcise  the  grim  fellow  from  his  perch. 
The  "  silver  sand  of  hope  "  has  uncoiled  to  the  very  end, 
so  far  as  college  is  concerned  ;  to-morrow  the  good-bys 
must  be  said,  and  this  day's  end  brings  us  to-morrow. 
At  such  a  time  the  fence  must  seem  like  an  old  familiar 
friend,  always  the  same  to  us,  whatever  our  mood  may 
be.  And  so,  involuntarily,  we  come  to  it  more  softly, 
we  are  lower-voiced  and  more  confidential  in  our  chats 
about  it,  and  we  leave  it  more  reverently  than  at  any 
previous  stage  of  college  life. 

Again  :  if  you  ever  noticed  it,  there  is  a  certain  fence 
aristocracy  in  every  class.  One  can  tell  the  crSme  de  la 
creme  of  this  aristocracy  by  the  assured  way  in  which 
they  seat  themselves  thereon.  They  feel  themselves 
masters  of  the  situation.  Less  constant  habituh  look 
up  to  such  persons  with  a  great  deal  of  reverence. 
They  rarely  have  as  much  assurance  in  the  recitation- 
room — but  that  is  because  they  lack  their  inspiration. 
Could  they  but  recite  on  the  fence,  a  fizzle  would  be  im- 
probable and  a  flunk  impossible.  They  are  pleasant 
fellows,  always  :  no  crabbedness  can  long  hold  sway  over 
such  a  kingdom  ; — and  they  are  fellows  of  some  talent, 
else  they  would  as  surely  be  dethroned.  They  are  often 
lazy,  and  quite  frequently  subject  to  ill-health,  especially 
on  Monday  and  Thursday  mornings.  They  are  never 
close  communion  :  give  them  only  comfortable  room, 
and  you  may  take  all  the  rest.  Altogether,  the  fence 
frequenters  are  a  most  desirable  element  in  college : 
hearty  good  boys,  generous  to  a  fault,  honest,  full  of 
pluck,  and  ready  to  help  you  kill  time  any  day  in  the 
week. 

I  suppose  the  fence  and  its  associations  will  be  re- 
membered a  great  while  longer  than  the  equation  of  the 


42  DORMITORY    LIFE. 

parabola.  The  latter  may  have  done  us  more  good — 
but  what  seems  to  be  of  little  good  is  usually  the  most 
pleasant.  We  all  like  to  be  pleased,  and  we  remember 
what  pleases  us. 

Some  day,  after  we  have  gone  away  from  here,  and 
only  the  big  book,  in  which  we  promised  not  to  swear  or 
play  cards,  keeps  our  names  in  remembrance, — a  musty 
immortality,  at  best ! — a  few  of  us,  now  and  then,  will 
stray  back,  to  look  at  the  place  where  we  were  boys  to- 
gether. Gray-headed,  and  beaten,  perhaps,  in  all  that 
we  had  once  hoped  for,  we  shall  be  ;  but  the  fence  will 
not  stand  upon  that.  It  is  a  constant  friend.  And 
there,  upon  it,  some  summer's  afternoon,  while  the  but- 
terflies go  by, 

"  Playing  in  their  Sunday  dress," 

and  the  elms  droop  above  us  as  of  yore,  we  shall  live 
over  the  past.  The  fence  will  be  the  magician,  and  we 
shall  see  again  the  old  faces,  and  shall  hear  the  old 
names,  though  they 

"  Have  been  carved  for  many  a  year 
On  the  tomb." 


®crm  Hoofing. 

THERE  is  a  tradition  commonly  received  through- 
out Christendom,  to  the  effect  that  a  special  Providence 
watches  over  the  interests  of  drunkards  and  children. 
To  which  of  these  classes  the  student  should  be  assigned 
may  be  an  open  question,  but  all  will  support  me,  I  am 
sure,  in  the  assertion  that  some  benign  influence  of  this 
kind  assisted  in  the  arrangement  of  our  college  year. 
See  how  the  seasons  themselves  are  contrived  for  our 
convenience.  First  comes  the  fall  term,  a  sort  of  initia- 
tion to  college  work.  A  forced  and  short-lived  excite- 
ment about  base  ball,  a  very  insignificant  boating  fever, 
the  ephemeral  joys  of  the  rush,  the  few  abortive  at- 
tempts at  a  revival  of  the  glorious  old  custom  of  hazing; 
these  all  serve  to  call  back  our  minds  from  the  inde- 
scribable luxuries  and  enjoyments  of  the  long  vacation. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  renewed  activity  of  our  tutors, 
the  warnings,  marks  and  letters  home,  serve  to  show  us 
what  is  coming.  By  the  end  of  the  fall  term,  the  hard- 
working, sensible  part  of  the  college,  my  readers,  in 
other  words,  are  strengthened,  so  to  speak,  to  wade 
through  the  necessary  work  of  the  curriculum.  Then 
two  weeks  to  take  a  long  breath  ;  a  hasty  plunge  into 
city  gayeties,  or  a  furious  destruction  of  country  pro- 
visions, and  we  are  irrevocably  embarked  in  the  winter 
term  ;  and  the  mere  writing  of  this  sentence  makes  me 
shudder.  I  seem  to  see  our  loved  city  of  elms  draped 
in  a  modern  version  of  Egyptian  darkness — a  darkness 


44  DORMITORY  LIFE. 

which  can  very  easily  be  felt,  but  which  does  not  quite 
succeed  in  hiding  the  Stygian  streams  of  slush  which 
ooze  down  the  sidewalks,  the  extensive  lakes  which 
persistently  cover  the  campus,  and  the  unlucky  devils 
who  flit  about  this  chilly  Hades,  coming  down  occa- 
sionally with  very  unspiritual  emphasis  in  some  pool  of 
especial  depth.  The  picture  is  not  pleasing,  to  be  sure, 
and  one  might  think  that  the  kind  genius  of  the  student 
had  in  this  case  been  transformed  into  a  malevolent 
demon.  But  look  deeper.  Did  we  not  come  to  col- 
lege to  study,  and  is  not  this  purgatorial  term  provided 
on  purpose  that  we  may  all  square  our  accounts  in  this 
particular  ?  The  question  answers  itself,  and  with  a 
start  of  mingled  apprehension  and  relief,  as  when  one 
awakens  from  a  fearful  dream,  with  faces  careworn  it  is 
true,  but  lit  up  with  hope,  we  turn  our  backs  on  every- 
thing unpleasant,  and  sail  boldly  out  into  the  third  term. 
Now  our  good  genius  comes  out  strong,  and  the 
lakes  and  rivers  of  darkness  give  place  to  greens  filled 
with  beauty  and  streets  filled  with  mud.  Boating,  ball, 
amusement  of  every  kind,  awaits  our  nod.  The  very 
shortness  of  the  term  enhances  its  value,  while  the 
prospects  of  happiness  to  come  removes  the  uncom- 
fortable air  of  evanescence  which  clouds  most  of  the 
short-lived  joys  of  this  world.  Philosophers,  poets  and 
sages  have  exercised  themselves  from  time  immemorial 
to  give  expression  to  their  idea  of  happiness.  If,  as 
Horace  says,  you  are  willing  to  turn  away  from  these 
standard  physicians  and  trust  the  judgment  of  a  poor 
apprentice,  I  give  it  as  my  candid  opinion  that  that  man 
is  most  to  be  envied  who  enters  the  summer  term  at 
Yale  with  good  health,  a  clear  conscience,  and  with  a 
feeling  that  he  has  done  his  duty  by  the  studies  of  the 
past  year.  .  But  I  am  wandering  from  the  subject  with 


THIRD  TERM   LOAFING.  45 

which  I  set  out.  I  must  not  go  into  raptures  over  the 
third  term  in  general,  but  restrict  myself  to  a  consider- 
ation of  its  loafing  in  particular. 

This  loafing,  while  I  think  of  it,  is  a  bad  word  ;  it 
does  not  express  my  meaning  at  all,  but  I  can  think  of 
no  better  and  hope  it  will  be  rightly  understood.  With- 
out questioning  in  the  least  the  proverbial  connection 
between  Satan  and  idle  hands,  I  am  an  earnest  advocate 
of  loafing  in  the  sense  in  which  I  use  the  word.  Do  you 
wish  my  reasons?  I  only  ask  you,  if  you  have  nothing 
else  to  do,  to  stroll  with  me  down  to  the  fence.  As  we 
stand  here  between  these  rows  of  trees  and  see  the  fel- 
lows collecting  on  our  corner,  while  the  notes  of  the  first 
song  are  wafted  toward  us,  I  leave  it  to  you  if  we  do  not 
get  an  impression  of  heaven  upon  earth  which  it  would 
be  hard  to  surpass.  But  this  is  not  one  of  those  earthly 
paradises  whose  charms  are  only  visible  from  a  distance, 
and  our  voices  are  soon  doing  their  best  to  swell  the 
harmony,  and  quite  a  part  of  the  evening  has  passed 
before  we  saunter  back  to  our  rooms  to  read  over  the 
morning  lesson. 

But  what  do  we  do  meanwhile,  and  what  enjoyment 
is  there  in  it,  and  why  do  our  old  graduates  always 
dwell  on  the  memories  of  the  fence  and  always  collect 
around  it  when  their  time  comes  at  triennial  ?  Well, 
really,  not  having  the  pen  of  a  ready  writer,  I  can- 
not say  ;  but  this  I  know,  that  there  the  whole  class 
meet  on  an  equality  ;  that  social  and  intellectual  dis- 
tinctions are  disregarded  ;  that  we  poor  fellows  of  a 
retiring  disposition,  whose  ordinary  life  and  conversa- 
tion are  often,  I  fear,  very  commonplace,  can  enjoy  the 
jokes  and  familiar  talk  of  you,  the  upper  ten  ;  while 
you,  I  think,  take  a  genuine  and  generous  pleasure  in 
giving  us  so  much  happiness.  The  jokes,  the  pleasant 


46  DORMITORY   LIFE. 

sayings,  the  feeling  of  pride  and  affection  in  our  class 
which  seems  to  spring  up  anew  in  this  assembling  of 
ourselves  together,  the  total  absence  of  anything  like 
exclusiveness  or  jealousy  or  bad  feeling,  the  pleasant 
odor  of  cigars  so  different  from  the  suffocating  smoke 
of  a  close  room,  all  the  benign  influences  of  nature  com- 
bined ;  no  wonder  that  old  gentleman  on  the  balcony  of 
the  New  Haven  House  looks  down  with  envy  and 
wishes  above  all  things  else  that  he  was  a  boy  again 
in  college.  But  far  ahead  of  all  the  rest  is  the  singing. 
When  the  college  jubilee  singers  first  made  their  ap- 
pearance and  set  the  whole  world  to  wondering  where 
they  found  that  rich  melody  so  different  from  anything 
our  art  had  produced,  we  were  all  glad  to  believe  that 
this  music  and  the  capability  for  enjoying  it  had  been 
mercifully  given  them  as  a  support  and  consolation  in 
the  toil  and  suffering  of  their  servitude.  Now, if  any 
one  doubts  that  our  college  singing  was  given  in  the 
same  way  to  cheer  us  in  our  study  and  keep  us  from 
other  less  innocent  forms  of  amusement,  I  will  have 
nothing  more  to  do  with  the  graceless  infidel,  except  to 
ask  him  what  other  explanation  he  can  give  for  the 
charm  which  our  songs  are  universally  acknowledged 
to  possess? 


I)eartl]3t0nes. 

NESTLE  !  The  winds  are  growing  brave  and  cold. 
They  rattle  the  shutters — they  shake  the  doors — they 
come  slyly  in  at  the  window-pane  which  some  vagrant 
pebble  hath  shattered.  There  is  a  rushing  sound  of 
might,  too,  among  the  old  elms  without,  but  there  is  no 
melody.  The  leaves  that  used  to  rustle  music  have 
fallen.  The  harp  is  unstrung.  The  days,  when  we  sat 
upon  the  grass,  under  the  old  trees  in  the  College  yard, 
panting  with  heat  and  wondering  what  kind  of  a  sen- 
sation cold  would  be,  are,  for  the  present,  gone.  The 
sunbeams  are  pale  and  chill.  The  mornings  are  no 
longer  cool,  but  cold.  You  shiver  through  Prayers  and 
Recitation.  Great  coats  and  mufflers  stalk  the  streets 
all  day.  The  winds  are  whistling  to  the  great  fierce 
dogs  of  winter.  They  are  coming.  We  seem  to  hear 
their  baying,  and  the  timid  Summer-spirit,  beautiful 
and  delicate,  has  been  frighted  away.  Winter  is  surely 
coming.  Cheerful,  old  Winter  with  its  rigors.  Come 
then  and  sit  down  by  my  fireside.  It  is  but  an  humble 
one.  None  of  your  great  old-fashioned  country  fire- 
places, where  they  pile  the  logs — real  veritable  logs  on 
the  great  broad  hearth,  and  the  fire  glows  and  roars 
fiercely — nor  yet  is  it  one  of  those  cosy,  city  firesides, 
where  a  comfortable  but  fastidious  elegance  seldom 
warms  itself  into  real  ease  ;  but  a  student's  grate,  warm, 
and  burning  so  quietly  as  not  to  disturb  the  very  even 
tenor  of  our  thoughts.  It  has  charms  you  will  not  find 


48  DORMITORY   LIFE. 

elsewhere.  Come  and  sit  with  me  of  an  evening.  Chill 
and  cheerless  without,  it  shall  be  glowing  within.  The 
old  lounge  shall  be  drawn  up  before  the  fire.  That  old 
lounge — who  knows  through  how  many  academic  gen- 
erations it  has  been  transmitted?  It  is  old,  and  quaint, 
and  full  of  comfort.  Then  too,  the  family  of  chairs  ! 
The  venerable,  one-armed,  squeaking  rocking-chair — a 
heritage  from  your  College  grand-father,  which  full  of 
years  and  scars,  seems,  as  it  sits  vacant  by  the  grate,  to 
seek  your  patronage.  Tick  !  Tick  !  says  the  clock  upon 
the  shelf.  Forth  and  back  ever,  in  its  arched  journey 
goes  the  pendulum.  Do  not  look  at  it.  It  will  spoil 
the  poetry.  It  is  but  a  lean  and  little  representative  of 
the  chronometrical  race.  Genus,  wooden  —  species, 
Jerome's.  How  utterly  insignificant  when  compared 
with  your  recollection  of  the  old  family  clock  at  home 
— the  heir-loom  of  a  hundred  years  !  How  grand  and 
majestic,  its  portly  figure,  as  you  remember  it  standing 
in  the  hall,  and  looking  most  severely  good-natured  out 
its  great,  honest,  Dutch  face  down,  upon  the  childish 
sports  of  yore,  ticking  ever  on  at  its  endless  task,  and 
hourly  plying  its  great  hammer,  till  the  whole  house 
echoed  with  its  clamor !  That  is  the  clock  for  me  ! 
The  guard  over  such  jewels  as  hours  and  minutes 
should  have  some  stateliness,  as  well  as  form  and  com- 
liness.  It  is  a  desecration  of  our  ideas  of  propriety  for 
men  to  set  up  such  wooden  images  of  time — to  de- 
prive this  modern  lar  of  all  its  dignity  and  durability. 
But  never  mind  !  It  is  cheaper.  Wood  costs  less  than 
brass,  so  the  age  demand  a  change.  It  has  it,  as  it  has 
everything  else  it  needs.  Tick  !  Tick  !  goes  the  clock 
such  as  it  is.  The  minute  hand  shall  make  many  a  cir- 
cuit before  we  sleep  to-night.  Heap  the  anthracite  up- 
on the  fire  !  Let  it  crackle  cheerily,  and  the  grate  glow. 


HEARTHSTONES.  49 

Let  the  lamp  be  extinguished,  and  the  dingy,  indented 
ceiling  blush  in  the  mellow  hues  of  the  fire.  Oh  !  there 
is  no  light  like  the  firelight.  Then  your  pale-faced 
student  friend  looks  ruddy,  and  the  smile  of  comfort 
that  plays  upon  his  face  has  a  strange  beauty.  Two 
things  it  does  which  oil,  or  fluid,  or  gas  cannot — it 
warms  the  body  and  the  heart. 

Bring  out  the  cigars  !  Shedden's  best  !  Let  no  un- 
seemly look  of  repugnance  come  over  face,  manly  or 
fair.  Give  us  sweet  smiles  and  silvery  voices  to  beguile 
our  solitary  and  idle  hours,  and  we  will  be  total  ab- 
stinence. It  is  a  bad  habit.  We  know  it.  We  feel  it. 
Prof.  S.  says  it  is  so,  and  we  all  believe.  It  is  disgusting 
— it  is  a  poison — it  is  enervating  both  for  the  time  and 
permanently.  It  makes  the  strongest  mind  think  less 
clearly,  and  provokes  day  dreams.  It  does  no  man 
good,  and  injures  every  votary.  It  is  the  very  kin  of 
intemperance.  All  this  and  more  we  know.  We  agree 
exactly,  save  in  practice,  and  in  the  knowledge  that  it 
has  a  charm — a  pleasure  which  cannot  be  guessed  or 
told. 

There  are  few  companionships  like  the  weed.  So 
shall  the  smoke  curl  upward.  So  shall  aerial  wreaths 
encircle  me.  So  shall  my  firelight  gild  them.  So  shall 
friendships  be  begotten  and  confidences  provoked. 
Touch  not  the  practice  with  too  unkindly  hands.  Is 
there  no  beam  in  thine  own  censorious  eye  ?  See  to  it 
that  this  mote  of  thy  brother's  be  not  the  lesser  !  Smok- 
ing is  a.  petit  vice,  and  a  pleasant  one.  It  is  the  student's 
solace.  Within  college  a  never  failing  source  of  comfort. 
It  dulls  the  edge  of  the  mind,  making  the  pleasures  less 
ecstatic,  but  ills  more  endurable.  It  makes  hours  glide 
dreamily.  The  nauseous  weed  of  the  Tyro  has  a  pleas- 
ant savor  to  the  adept.  It  has  a  charm  of  sluggishness 


5O  DORMITORY   LIFE. 

— makes  slaves  of  the  strong,  and  is  an  inexorable  mas- 
ter. We  will  be  slaves  to-night !  The  smoke  wreaths 
curl.  We  will  talk  of  those  never-failing  subjects  of 
conversation  among  students  —  the  past  and  future. 
What  stores  of  confidential  disclosures  !  If  you  have 
aught  of  your  self  to  tell  that  will  lessen  my  esteem,  let 
it  be  unspoken.  But  let  nothing  else  be  hidden.  How 
days  of  yore  come  back  to  my  memory.  Pleasant  days 
such  as  we  will  never  see  again.  Boyhood  glows,  as  it 
never  glowed  before.  The  thousand  little  cares  and  sor- 
rows are  swallowed  up  in  oblivion.  School  days,  with 
their  queer  ideas  and  adventures,  swell  the  great  train. 
The  red  country  school  house — the  old  schoolroom — the 
schoolmaster — venerable  tyrant  that  he  was,  with  his 
spectacles,  his  ferrule,  his  birch,  his  old  sly  manoeuvres, 
to  detect  the  guilty,  his  stentorian  voice  of  reproof,  his 
strong  arm  of  justice,  the  whistle  of  the  descending  rod, 
the  pain,  the  tears,  the  shame,  his  solemn,  sorrowful 
looks — then  his  pleasant  smile  of  approval,  his  little 
partialities,  the  long  discussions  among  the  little  boys 
about  sundry  plans  of  retaliation  when  you  are  big,  and 
the  spell  of  admiration  which  chains  you  to  the  side  of 
some  great  boy,  who  will  flog  the  hated  master  if  he 
touches  him.  How  earnestly  you  desire  to  add  a  cubit 
to  your  own  stature  !  You  would  not  wait  then.  But 
somehow  the  time  never  comes  with  your  great  friend. 
You  yourself  have  grown  in  stature  and  in  wisdom,  and 
your  cherished  plans  of  retribution  have  given  place  to 
feelings  of  gratitude.  So  the  honest  old  schoolmaster 
goes  unpunished.  Oh  !  how  time  writes  wrinkles  on 
the  brows,  and  changes  on  the  hearts  of  men  !  Then 
you  call  to  mind  a  thousand  little  frolics  and  adven- 
tures which  were  fraught  with  thrilling  interest  in  those 
days,  and  are  yet  pleasant  to  remember.  The  early 


HEARTHSTONES.  51 

fruit  which  was  pilfered.  There  was  the  rude  raft 
which  went  to  pieces  with  you,  in  the  middle  of  the 
pool,  making  infinite  merriment.  There  was  a  great 
snake,  seen  in  the  pasture,  which  made  you  run  screech- 
ing and  shuddering  away,  while  your  companion,  a 
fearless  little  fellow,  stayed  behind  to  defend  his  sister, 
and  despatch  the  reptile.  You  admired  that  boy,  and 
envied  his  nerves.  You  dreamed  of  the  monster  long 
after,  and  woke  a  dozen  times  just  as  it  was  about  to 
encircle  you  in  its  slimy  folds.  You  hate  and  fear  the 
whole  race,  from  the  tiniest  to  the  huge  hissing  monster 
that  gives  you  a  spasmodic  shock  from  which  you  do 
not  soon  recover.  How  carefully  you  trod  the  old 
familiar  paths  near  the  spot  for  a  long  time  afterward, 
always  carrying  a  stick,  and  avoiding  the  tall  grass  and 
bushes,  starting  at  every  rustling  sound,  and  terrified  at 
your  own  foot-falls  ! 

But  there  were  dark  days.  Clouds  crept  over  the 
spirit  of  your  joyousness.  There  is  no  place,  save  the 
fire-side,  where  death  brings  such  darkness  as  in  the 
school-room.  Take  a  man  from  the  pulpit,  the  bar,  the 
change,  the  plough,  any  sphere  of  active  life,  his  circle 
of  friends  is  larger,  the  public  loss  is  greater.  But  the 
world  grows  old  in  bereavements,  the  feelings  have 
grown  callous,  and  there  are  no  tears  in  every  eye,  no 
bitter  grief  and  gloom  in  every  heart,  as  at  school.  You 
remember  a  bright,  fair,  little  girl,  who  had  been  your 
playmate  before  either  could  remember — a  schoolmate 
always — your  best  friend.  That  was  a  Platonic  love 
for  her,  but  none  the  less  a  love.  Her  seat  is  vacant 
once  again.  There  is  inquiry.  She  is  ill.  Worse. 
Still,  you  hope.  The  old  bell  from  the  church  wakes 
you  at  sunrise  with  its  solemn  tolling.  You  count 
anxiously  the  slow  strokes.  It  is  her  age.  You  creep 


52  DORMITORY  LIFE. 

sorrowfully  down  stairs.     Mother  says,  Bessy  is  dead. 
Tears  tell  nothing  of  the  bitterness  of  your  sorrow. 

Then' there  was  the  boy  with  the  jetty  black  hair  and 
great  lustrous  black  eyes,  with  rosy  cheeks  and  dim- 
ples, who  sat  next  you,  and  knew  all  your  secrets.  He 
was  lame,  and  timid  as  you  were,  you  have  fought  many 
a  battle  in  his  defense.  You  would  have  died  for  him. 
His  was  a  sweet  character,  and,  with  his  beauty  and 
goodness,  he  came  next  your  heart.  He  was  a  brother. 
One  Sabbath  there  came  a  sudden  stroke  of  illness 
upon  him.  The  next  morning  you  went  sadly  alone  to 
school.  A  great,  good-natured  girl  bent  over  the  next 
form  and  asked  after  your  sick  brother.  You  felt  a 
choking  sensation,  and  did  not  answer.  The  question 
came  again.  It  was  too  much.  You  laid  your  head  on 
the  desk  and  sobbed  aloud.  Then  the  kind-hearted 
teacher  came  and  laid  his  hand  upon  your  head.  He 
did  not  ask  you  why  you  wept.  He  did  not  chide.  A 
great  hot  tear-drop  fell  burning  on  your  hand.  Oh  ! 
how  kindly  you  felt  towards  him  for  that  token  of  com- 
mon love  and  common  sorrow  !  How  grateful  you  felt 
when  he  told  you  to  lay  aside  your  books  and  go  home  ! 
You  went  across  the  fields  by  an  unfrequented  way, 
and  were  glad  no  one  met  you,  or  saw  you  weep,  for 
you  boyishly  thought  such  irrepressible  outbursts  of 
grief  unmanly.  But  that  was  not  the  saddest.  Months 
after  your  brother  slept,  and  did  not  wake.  The  toll  of 
the  bell — the  kind  attempts  to  console — the  mournful 
solemnities,  were  all  unheeded.  You  were  completely 
absorbed  with  grief.  When  the  earth  rattled  upon  the 
coffin,  and  you  turned  away  from  that  hallowed  spot,  no 
wonder  a  spell  of  utter  loneliness  and  woe  came  over 
you.  Many  summers  have  made  his  grave  green, 
but  you  love  not  his  memory  less.  Often  his  image 


HEARTHSTONES.  53 

mingles  in  your  dreams,  and  when  some  old  scene  has 
been  reenacted,  he  seems  to  float,  on  golden  pinions, 
away  from  your  vision.  Is  it  all  a  dream  ? 

But  the  fire  in  the  grate  is  expiring.  The  clock  tells 
the  early  hours.  Your  companion  has  been  silent  and 
you  have  not  told  half  you  would.  Good  Night !  is  ex- 
changed, but  not  until  you  have  appointed  another  time 
to  resume  your  chat. 


®l)e  Steam  SDeuil. 

Crack.     Rrr — rrr — rrr.    Bang. 

I  HAVE  ridden  on  a  street  car  when  it  has  jumped  the 
track,  and  with  all  the  uneasy  movements  of  camel-rid- 
ing, has  hurried  from  one  large  cobble  stone  to  another  ; 
I  have  stood  on  the  street  corner  while  the  buzzing  and 
palpitating  and  revolving  snow-sweeper  has  swept  past, 
leaving  the  cracks  of  the  whip  and  snorts  of  the  horses 
and  the  rattle  of  the  machinery  and  the  expostulations 
and  ejaculations  of  the  dozen  or  more  men  on  the  top 
of  this  infernal  machine, — all  these  noises,  mixed  with 
the  smoke  from  the  flanks  of  the  horses,  and  the  steam 
that  rises  from  the  action  of  the  rock-salt  upon  the 
snow,  for  lazy  bystanders  to  think  about. 

I  was  awake  at  the  very  first  moment  of  the  year  1876, 
and  lasted  through  that  most  extraordinary  proclama- 
tion of  the  greatness  and  glory  and  freedom  of  the 
great  American  Eagle  by  every  steamboat,  steam-car 
and  steam-whistle  of  every  description,  and  by  every 
cannon-mouth  and  gun-barrel  and  pistol  within  hearing. 

The  sound  that  sprang  out  at  me  from  the  steam  reg- 
ister of  a  certain  Durfee  room  as  I  entered  late  on  a 
certain  night,  was  different  from  all  these.  It  began 
with  a  sharp  report.  Then  there  ran  along  for  some 
little  time  some  such  a  racket  as  the  old-fashioned 
night-habilitated  New  England  burgher  raised  when  he 
sprang  the  rattle  from  his  bedroom  window  to  warn 
his  good  neighbors  that  his  castle  was  threatened  with 
thieves.  This  was  a  sort  of  basis  for  all  the  other 


THE   STEAM   DEVIL.  55 

remarkable  effects.  It  was  demoniacal  ;  a  gurgle  and  a 
death  rattle,  and  an  explosion  at  once. 

There,  my  dear  editor,  you  have  unwittingly  become 
the  witness  of  a  very  grievous  trial  of  mine.  There's  a 
sprite  or  an  imp,  or  an  ill-natured  mangy  spirit  of  some 
sort  in  those  pipes  that  is  worrying  my  flesh  away.  It 
sits  in  there  and  clatters  all  day.  It  snarls  at  me  until 
my  bedtime,  and  I  leave  it  spitting  and  spluttering  and 
snapping  its  fingers  when  I  betake  myself  to  bed.  In 
the  morning  it  hurries  'round  through  the  pipes  into 
my  bedroom,  and  croaks  and  halloes,  snorts  and 
sneezes  until  it  succeeds  in  filling  the  air  with  such  un- 
pleasant phantasms  that  desperation  seizes  me,  and  I 
rise  to  hurry  away  from  it. 

Well,  my  dear  Aristocrat,  roll  that  arm  chair  over 
there  ;  run  me  that  table,  so  ;  there,  a  couple  of  books 
— the  light  is  just  right  as  it  is.  Now,  with  my  feet 
propped  and  my  arms  bolstered  and  my  chair  dropped 
back,  just  as  I  like  it — to  the  last  notch — I  will  keep 
guard  and  interview  your  imp  or  devil  or  whatever  he 
may  be.  I  will,  so  far  as  my  experience  and  spirit  may 
aid  me,  bid  the  thing  stand  and  explain. 

Eleven  o'clock.  Say,  my  dear  fellow,  open  that  door. 
You  know  I'm  not  a  coward,  but — and  besides  I  want 
to  see  the  little  devil  when  he  comes  up  there  from  un- 
derneath in  the  morning. 

Goodnight.  Eh?  Oh,  you  didn't  say  anything,  and 
you  wish  I'd  keep  still.  Don't  be  ungrateful.  Oh,  yes  ; 
I'll  forgive  you.  Goodnight. 

What  abominable  poor  company  these  registers  are, 
at  night,  anyway.  Regular  sphinxes.  With  nothing  to 
poke,  with  not  a  blaze,  not  even  a  column  of  blue 
smoke  to  keep  you  company  ;  a  bellows  and  a  pair  of 
tongs  would  be  royal  in  comparison  with  this. 


56  DORMITORY   LIFE. 

Hark  !  why  I  can  hear  that  little  imp  that  I'm  set  to 
watch,  now. 

He's  away  up  on  the  fourth  floor  middle  entry,  and 
it  sounds  as  if  there  was  a  spiral  staircase  that  ran 
'round  and  'round  the  inside  of  that  two-inch  steam 
pipe  ;  and  as  if  the  poor  little  fellow  was  drunk  ;  and  as 
if  he  had  slipped  at  the  top,  and  was  tumbling  down — 
with  his  boots  on. 

Lack-a-day,  the  little  fellow  must  have  struck  bottom 
then,  and  from  the  rattle  in  his  throat  I  should  think 
him  pretty  badly  injured. 

Hey !  Great  Caesar  !  the  little  fellow  spoke  to  me. 
Had  hard  luck  up  stairs  ?  They've  all  gone  to  bed,  and 
you  came  down  here  for  company? 

I  wish  I  might  pass  you  through  a  pipe  full  of  this 
tobacco,  but  between  me  and  thee  there's  the  thickness 
of  that  iron  pipe. 

Where've  they  been  ?  Oh,  you  won't  say.  Fast  set  ? 
I  guess  they  are  a  pretty  fast  set.  Good  company,  eh  ? 
Well,  yes,  I  guess  they  are  pretty  good  company. 

It's  strange  that  the  men  that  get  mellow  the  oftenest 
seem  to  need  the  mellowing  the  least ;  that  not  the 
driest  sticks  drink  up  the  most,  that  our  funniest,  wit- 
tiest, best-natured  men  seem  to  be  the  special  objects 
of  attack  from  the  bottled  devils,  and  that  our  men  the 
best  spirited  naturally  seem  to  demand  the  most  artificial 
aids  for  their  spirits. 

Sad,  you  say?  Yes,  it  is  sad  sometimes  ;  and  yet  the 
ill  effects  of  college  drinking  are  oftener  overesti- 
mated in  the  judgment  of  sensible  critics  of  our  life 
here,  than  underestimated.  I  have  known — let  me  see, 
perhaps  one,  two — yes,  three  instances,  where  the  quar- 
rel between  a  masculine-bodied  but  feminine-minded 
fellow  and  the  liquor  demon — speaking  as  the  crusaders 


THE  STEAM  DEVIL.  57 

speak — has  been  carried  on  in  earnest ;  where,  instead 
of  being  good-naturedly  made  fun  of,  the  man  has  been 
clawed  and  hammered  by  his  subtile  antagonist  in  earn- 
est ;  the  man  getting  more  and  more  in  a  passion,  with 
his  eyes  blinded,  his  nerve  and  skill  all  gone,  rushing 
in  on  his  antagonist,  reckless  of  consequences.  Such 
quarrels  are  infrequent.  They  end  only  in  the  death  of 
the  man.  These  things,  as  a  general  thing,  you  know, 
are  carried  on  in  a  different  spirit ;  like  the  old-fash- 
ioned games,  where  a  man  got  down  on  all  fours  for 
the  merriment  of  himself  and  company.  Generally — 
but  I'm  preaching  to  you  ;  let's  find  a  jollier  subject. 

Girl  up  there  ?  No.  Oh,  the  fellow's  engaged  ? 
What  do  I  think  of  it  ? 

Well,  it  would  be  hard  for  me  to  tell  you,  old  fellow, 
on  such  short  notice.  What  a  stampede  there  has  been  ! 
Have  I  never  been  in  love?  Yes.  Has  anybody  ever 
been' in  love  with  me?  I — modestly  think  perhaps  there 
has.  But  it  has  always  been  a  sort  of  cross-ruff;  when 
I  held  a  hand  she  had  none  ;  and  when  she  had  a  hand- 
ful I  had  nothing  to  catch  a  single  trick  of  hers. 

You  don't  believe  in  college  engagements  ?  Nor  I, 
old  fellow.  The  period  of  a  man's  engagement  is  a 
trying  one.  "Amare  et  sapere  -vix  deo  conceditur."  Every 
consideration  is  due  a  man  at  such  a  time.  He'd  be  a 
fool  who'd  expect  any  ;  but,  without  exhibiting  madness 
of  some  sort,  a  man's  bound  to  fail  ;  no  place  so  unfav- 
orable for  passion  of  any  sort  as  this. 

If  a  man's  lady-love  had  a  strong  head  and  didn't  suc- 
cumb to  him — but  what  nonsense.  Am  I  susceptible? 
Yes,  very  susceptible.  In  that  lies  my  safety,  as  I 
think.  My  ideal  is  a  low-built  woman, — in  this  I  differ 
from  Lord  Byron,  who  says  "  he  hates  a  dumpy 
woman  " — with  a  clear  eye,  brown  hair,  quiet,  that  seems 


58  DORMITORY  LIFE. 

to  move  limpidly  through  the  world,  and  whose  self- 
possession  is  proof  against  everything.  She  is  a  worthy 
inspiration,  and  a  lucky  stroke  or  a  success  gained  in 
any  way  is  worth  double  if  it  only  reaches  her  ears. 

A  man  might  ramble  a  good  while  on  the  subject  of 
college  women?  Yes,  that's  true;  it's  a  big  subject. 
Better  not  start  one.  Got  all  night  ahead  of  us?  Well, 
that's  true. 

They'd  make  a  long  list,  and  would  stretch  all  the  way 
from  a  man's  sweetheart  to  his  washerwoman.  It  would 
include  the  pretty  shop  girl  rich  enough  only  to  dress  in 
cottonades,  who  peeps  at  us  promenaders,  and  the  poor 
demoralized  jade  that  has  gotten  so  wound  up  in  the 
bills  of  fare  for  breakfast  and  dinner  as  to  lose  all  life 
and  animation,  as  well  as  the  pretty  skinned,  bright- 
eyed,  jauntily-capped  and  well-shod  beauties  who  come 
up  to  see  us  graduate.  They  all  interest  us  in  one  way 
or  another,  so  they  are  for  the  nonce,  college  women. 

I  wonder  whether  they  pass  from  one*  station  to 
the  other?  You  think  they  do.  But  do  I  think  it  pos- 
sible that  the  poor,  tired-looking,  prematurely  old 
woman  that  is  so  often  seen  on  the  street,  who  takes 
the  linen  at  seventy-five  cents  the  dozen,  was  ever 
bright  and  pretty?  You  know  it  sometimes  happens; 
not  often,  I  hope. 

Shop  girls?     Yes,  a  good  many  of  them  are  bright. 

If  you  could  get  out,  you  would  go  'round  and  warn 
them  all  ?  My  dear  little  fellow,  it  would  be  labor  lost ; 
and  besides,  it  would  make  a  cynic  of  you. 

The  light  blue-eyed,  brown-haired,  spirited,  innocent- 
hearted  bar-maid,  or  shop-girl,  or  janitor's  daughter, 
would  be  as  hard  to  find  as  Captain  Kidd's  gold.  It  is 
the  first  shock  that  a  college  man  receives  in  this  life  of 
surprises,  blunders  and  failures. 


THE   STEAM   DEVIL.  59 

Have  I  never  met  a  bright-eyed,  cleanly-built,  neatly- 
dressed  little  maiden  on  some  one  of  our  thoroughfares  ? 
Has  she  never  looked  half-vvistfully  at  me  from  the 
corner  of  a  bright  eye?  Have  I  never  offered  assistance 
to  such  a  one  when  "  in  extremis  "  from  the  roughness 
of  the  winds,  or  from  the  unmanageableness  of  a  shawl 
when  a  corner  wouldn't  come  'round,  or,  having  been 
dragged  'round,  would  escape  from  the  tiny  grasp  and 
flap  and  flutter  and  furl  and  unfurl  like  a  distress 
signal  ? 

You're  sending  your  questions  at  me  pretty  fast ; 
but  truthfully,  I'll  swear  to  answer  them.  Yes,  then,  to 
them  all  ;  but  let  me  qualify  it.  Whether  I  risked 
never  so  much  or  never  so  little  to  answer  such  a  sig- 
nal, I  have  always  found  the  craft  that  flew  it  in  no 
danger.  No  demoralization  aboard ;  everything  was 
taut,  not  a  spar  gone,  not  a  rope  out  of  place,  not  a 
seam  sprung.  It  ran  the  danger,  but  knew  it.  It  took 
the  risks,  but  charged  for  them. 

I  have  always  found  a  cool,  calculating  head  in 
charge.  The  signal  is  a  snare.  The  trepidation  and 
embarrassment  assumed.  Take  my  advice — you  don't 
like  the  way  I  talk. 

Hullo!  I've  been  asleep?  and  talking  aloud? 
Where's  the  heat  gone  ?  Why,  the  register's  cold. 
That  little  fellow  wasn't  bad  company,  by  any  means. 
He  had  the  happy  faculty  of  drawing  a  man  out. 

Two  o'clock  ?  Impossible.  Get  in  bed  with  you  ? 
Thank  you,  my  dear  Aristocrat,  I  will.  Anything  to 
avoid  dragging  across  that  snow,  under  that  cold  moon, 
at  such  an  hour. 


Do  you  know  the  perfection  of  all  cheerlessness  here 
in  College?  Perhaps  you  will  be  troubled  to  make  a 
judicious  selection  from  the  great  bundle  of  similarities. 
If  it  is  not  a  real  rainy  day  I  am  mistaken. 

Think  of  a  rainy  morning !  The  bell  half  through 
ringing  before  you  wake  from  a  dream  of  pleasant  hours, 
or  smiles,  at  home.  The  incessant  dash  of  many  drops 
against  the  window-panes  ;  a  damp,  cold  chill  pervading 
the  atmosphere.  Dampness  is  on  every  thing.  Even 
the  water  seems  to  leave  an  uncommonly  humid  sensa- 
tion, as  you  dash  it  hastily  upon  your  face  to  arrive  at  a 
state  of  tolerable  wakefulness. 

Then  there  is  a  peculiarly  uncomfortable  damp  feel- 
ing in  one's  clothing,  even  to  the  old  overcoat  which- 
has  hung  out  of  the  reach  of  moisture  for  a  month  or 
two.  So  much  for  the  pleasure  of  rising.  Now  for  a 
plunge.  The  bell  is  in  the  second  stage  of  a  real  funeral 
toll.  The  short,  leaden  sound,  comes  heavily  through 
the  rain  in  upon  your  ears.  The  quick  vibrations  which 
it  emits,  seem  only  to  shake  the  rain-drops  down  more 
rapidly.  You  do  not  pause  to  locate  your  umbrella  in 
the  proper  direction.  You  have  no  time  to  pick  your 
steps  daintily  up  the  street  and  quietly  saunter  into 
Chapel.  No !  One  vigorous  plunge.  A  deluge  of 
rain  at  once  removes  all  recollection  of  any  moist  feel- 
ing, and  imparts  a  decided  impression  that  you  are  wet. 
Long  strides  Chapelward.  You  are  going  on  from  wet 


RAINY   DAYS.  6l 

to  wetter.  No  matter  for  that.  What  is  a  cold,  a  cough, 
the  hectic  flush,  perhaps  a  fever,  perhaps  tears,  and 
mourning,  to  an  absent  mark,  when  you  have  already 
seven,  eleven,  or  nineteen.  One  may  bring  your  friends 
in  haste,  anxiety,  kindness,  may  be  sorrow,  to  your  bed- 
side. The  other  will  be  sure  to  cloud  their  smiles  and 
will  bring  a  stern  rebuke  from  those  whom  you  may  de- 
sire to  please.  Well,  haste  has  brought  you  to  the 
Chapel.  Bustle  in  quickly  or  you  are  late  !  Oh  !  the 
comfort  of  sitting  down  to  drip  on  a  nice,  soft,  board 
seat.  But  you  all  know  that,  Prayers  fall  like  the  rain- 
drops upon  the  cold  earth,  unfelt  into  many  hearts. 
God  grant  that  with  a  warm  sun  they  may  yet  germinate 
many  virtues. 

You  dodge  from  Chapel  to  the  recitation-room.  The 
spice  of  variety  is  there.  The  room  is  a  little  colder 
than  usual — perhaps  a  trifle  damper.  What  six-penny 
rushes — what  complacent  fizzles — what  unmitigated 
flunks  are  reserved  for  rainy  mornings  !  The  Tutor 
tries  to  be  brisk.  The  students  don't  care.  The  room 
is  cheerless.  Hearts  are  cheerless.  Faces  seem  to  have 
vowed  an  eternal  enmity  to  smiles.  It  is  a  rainy  morn- 
ing. The  last  "  sufficient " — the  next  lesson — the  request 
for  some  luckless  fellow  to  remain — the  final  bow  are  the 
only  circumstances  which  seem  to  elicit  anything  like  a 
manifestation  of  joy.  Beat  a  retreat  to  your  room  before 
breakfast.  Cold,  uninviting,  damp  as  ever.  The  rain 
patters  a  little  harder.  The  wind  has  freshened  a  trifle. 
It  may  be  colder.  There  is  no  cheerfulness  at  the  break- 
fast table.  Cold  coffee — cold  buckwheats — a  general 
coldness.  The  man  who  can  keep  up  an  equilibrum  of 
spirits  on  a  rainy  morning  has  indeed  a  good  disposition. 
Now  for  the  day's  toil.  There  is  no  real  vigorous  study 
to-day.  A  good  fire  does  not  warm  up  your  spirits. 


62  DORMITORY   LIFE. 

There  is  no  exercising  out  of  doors.  A  glance  into  the 
street  is  quite  sufficient  to  quench  any  such  unnatural 
desire.  The  gutters  are  in  their  glory — a  perfect  holiday 
for  them.  People  go  by  shrouded  under  overcoats  and 
umbrellas,  and  with  their  thick  boots  they  splash  heavily 
and  ill-natured  along.  One  poor  hack,  shut  up  closely, 
with  its  black  form  glistening  in  the  rain,  a  wet  driver 
and  a  span  of  disconsolate-looking  horses,  creeps  slowly 
through  the  street.  So  in  alternate  trying  and  failing  to 
study,  and  gazing  vacantly  into  the  rain  without,  the  day 
passes.  You  cannot  smile  if  you  would.  There  is  no- 
body to  return  a  pleasant  look.  The  countenances  of 
your  best  friends  are  cheerless  as  the  sky  above,  and 
their  smiles  are  like  to-day's  sunbeams — latent  in  the 
thick  cloud  that  sweeps  unceasingly  along  and  inces- 
santly drops  its  moist  treasures  around  you. 

Oh  !  the  delight  of  Evening  Prayers,  on  a  rainy  day- 
There  are  as  many  umbrellas  as  there  are  individuals, 
and  what  drippings  !  How  pleasant  to  the  touch  a  cold, 
wet  umbrella  !  Anacondas  are  toys  to  them.  There  is 
a  clamminess  about  them  which  reminds  one  of  some- 
thing indescribably  wet  and  terribly  uncomfortable  to 
the  touch.  Then  how  good  natured  everybody  is.  Did 
you  ever  have  a  beaver  new — nearly  new  or  old  even — 
crushed  beneath  the  weight  of  its  superincumbent  re- 
sponsibilities, and  do  you  know  the  particular  gracious- 
ness  with  which  all  owners  are  wont  to  regard  the 
operation  ?  Perhaps  you  do — perhaps  not.  I  own  a 
beaver  which  was  ten  times  a  victim  to  the  stupidity  of 
my  neighbor  in  Chapel.  I  cured  him  of  his  habit  by 
victimizing  his  poor,  innocent  chapeau  on  the  eleventh 
occasion.  Each  one  of  these  accidents  occurred  on 
rainy  evenings. 

Now  comes  the  best  part  of  a  rainy  day — its  exit.     A 


RAINY   DAYS.  63 

smoking  cup  of  Hyson  superinduces  a  state  of  semi- 
cheerfulness,  in  which  the  truth  that  rainy  days  do  not 
(or  at  least  not  usually)  last  always,  is  vividly  and  hope- 
fully impressed  upon  the  mind.  A  lesson  is  droned 
through  early.  A  nice,  generous  fellow,  who  knows 
your  rainy  humor,  comes  in  to  waste  a  good  Havanna 
and  an  hour  with  you.  That  man  would  be  a  martyr, 
only  he  wants  the  opportunity  to  consummate  the 
natural  promptings  of  his  heart.  The  evening  wears 
away.  Your  friend  takes  his  leave.  The  storm  is 
lulling.  The  wind  has  an  empty,  fitful  sound,  as  if 
wasting  strength.  The  rain  patters  more  gently.  Old 
Morpheus  comes  sailing  down  upon  you  on  his  great 
linen  pinions,  and  his  very  jolly  bolster-like  phiz  stares 
you  in  the  face.  You  sleep  to  dream  pleasantly,  and 
wake  to  the  joy  of  a  fresh,  clear,  cloudless  sky,  and 
genial  sunbeams,  or  to  the  unexpressed  and  inexpressi- 
ble misery  of  a  second  rainy  day  in  College. 


&  Nijgtjt  in  "  <S>nr  ©ntrji.11 

A  MEMBER  of  this  entry  is  different  from  other  men. 
Even  the  bricks  which  compose  this  venerable  building 
in  which  we  live,  have  lost  the  bright  red  which  bricks 
ought  to  have,  and  it  is  said  that  their  vitality  has  been 
exhausted  in  imparting  a  portion  of  their  spirit  to  those 
who  may  come  within  their  influence.  I  recall  to  mind 
one  young  man,  once  pure  and  upright  in  all  his  ways, 
the  smoke  of  whose  cigar  now  daily-rolls  through  his 
coal  closet  into  my  room,  and  whose  spare  quarters  van- 
ish like  my  wood  when  I  leave  any  here  during  vacation. 

And  there  are  also  traditionary  tales  of  brave  deeds 
performed  by  those  who  have  gone  before  us,  which 
greatly  arouse  the  spirit  of  the  "  man  in  this  entry."  He 
lives  on  the  very  spot  of  their  occurrence.  They  are  re- 
lated to  him  by  the  gentleman  who  makes  beds.  They 
become  inwrought  into  his  very  nature,  and  he  goes  and 
does  likewise. 

Such  is  the  general  influence  of  a  home  in  this  college. 
But  circumstances  cannot  cause  all  natures  to  conform 
to  the  same  mould,  and  there  are  differences  observable 
even  among  us.  There  is  a  moral  and  there  is  an  im- 
moral portion,  and  in  this  respect  there  is  an  analogy  to 
other  communities.  Though  there  is  no  approach  to  the 
extremes  either  of  good  or  evil,  yet  the  line  of  separation 
between  the  two  parties  is  distinctly  drawn. 

The  moral  portion  occasionally  spend  an  evening  in  a 
quiet  game  of  whist.  To  this  there  cannot  possibly  be 


A  NIGHT  IN  "OUR   ENTRY."  65 

any  objection,  when  it  is  considered  how  pure  are  their 
motives,  and  how  blessed  is  the  end  attained.  The 
cards  are  by  this  means  kept  out  of  the  hands  of  those 
in  whom  correct  moral  principles  are  not  sufficiently 
established  ;  and  the  only  refreshment  used  is  molasses 
candy.  There  is  also  a  slight  difference  in  the  custom- 
ary beverages  of  the  two.  This,  however,  I  consider 
of  little  account,  as  I  have  tasted  both  frequently,  and 
find  both  extremely  good.  With  these  general  remarks, 
by  way  of  introduction,  I  will  attempt  to  describe  what 
this  entry  does  after  dark. 

It  is  Saturday  night.  Tea  is  over,  and  all  have  re- 
turned to  their  respective  rooms.  Outside,  perchance, 
the  rain  is  falling  cheerlessly  and  heavily  on  the  drip- 
stones, but  within  the  ruddy  glow  and  genial  warmth  of 
a  coal  fire  dissipate  all  uncomfortable  feelings.  A  quiet 
sensation  of  comfort  and  satisfaction  gradually  arises. 
Neighbors  are  called  in,  lemons,  hot  water,  &c.,  are  pro- 
cured, and  a  glass  of  hot  lemonade  increases  the  inward 
comfort  and  satisfaction.  We  desire  to  do  good  to  others, 
and  the  plaintive  notes  of  "  Cocachelunk  "  lull  to  sleep 
those  whose  Sabbath  and  whose  time  of  retiring  to  rest 
begin  simultaneously  with  the  going  down  of  the  sun. 
Later  in  the  evening  I  take  a  walk  through  the  entry, 
preparatory  to  a  quiet  sleep.  I  find  much  to  engage 
the  attention  and  gratify  the  senses,  and  therefore  my 
absence  is  somewhat  protracted.  I  enter  one  room 
and  discover  that  my  visit  is  very  opportune.  A  coal- 
scuttle filled  with  oysters  stands  on  the  hearth.  The 
occupant,  unencumbered  by  a  coat,  lays  them  one  by 
one  gently  on  the  coals.  Soon  he  withdraws  them  from 
their  resting-place,  closes  his  eyes,  and  after  a  few  pre- 
liminaries, nothing  remains  behind  but  the  shells. 

I  stand  for  a  short  time  outside  the  door,  but  the 

3 


66  DORMITORY  LIFE. 

darkness  and  cold  of  the  entry  are  not  congenial  to  my 
feelings,  and  I  call  on  another  of  my  friends.  He  is 
evidently  enjoying  himself.  A  warm  fire  and  an  easy 
chair  make  him  comfortable,  while  the  smoke,  issuing 
lazily  from  the  bowl  of  his  meerschaum,  gives  a  pleasant 
turn  to  his  thoughts.  This  scene  of  happiness  overcomes 
my  good  resolutions,  and  I  take  a  pipe.  The  red  light 
of  the  fire,  reflected  from  the  ceiling,  harmonizes  well 
with  the  quiet  satisfaction  which  I  think  would  accom- 
pany our  occupation  if  the  weed  were  not  so  strong.  I 
engage  in  interesting  conversation  till  he  falls  asleep, 
which  he  does  in  a  few  minutes. 

Overpowered  at  length  by  weariness  and  warm  lem- 
onade, I  go  to  bed.  But  my  slumbers  are  short,  for  a 
new  scene  is  introduced,  the  object  of  which  is  to  make 
a  noise  ;  and  a  noise  is  made. 

A  party  have  been  searching  in  a  neighboring  cellar, 
and  have  discovered  a  large  collection  of  bottles,  all 
empty.  They  heave  a  sigh  over  this  evidence  of  deprav- 
ity of  past  generations,  and  immediately  think  that  these 
will  furnish  a  new  source  of  amusement  to  the  sleepers 
and  themselves.  They  come  up  from  the  cellar,  regretting 
that  the  lock  was  accidentally  broken  in  their  efforts  to 
open  the  door.  They  are  moral  men  and  would  gladly 
do  these  things  in  a  moral  way  ;  but  their  system  of 
ethics  has  not  yet  taught  them  how  to  enter  a  cellar 
when  the  door  is  locked,  without  impairing  in  some  de- 
gree the  security  of  the  fastening. 

Regretting  their  inability  to  restore  things  to  their 
pristine  condition,  they  return  to  the  entry  and  engage 
in  the  pleasing  employment  of  throwing  some  of  the 
thinnest  glass-ware  against  my  door.  I  am  somewhat 
concerned  lest  they  should  injure  the  paint,  and  think 


A  NIGHT  IN  "OUR  ENTRY."  67 

that  I  will  remonstrate  with  them,  but  finally  conclude 
that  it  will  be  the  safer  course  to  remain  where  I  am. 

The  noise  at  length  ceases.  I  step  out  to  look.  A 
piece  of  glass  enters  my  foot,  and  I  am  prevented  from 
attending  Sabbath  morning  prayers.  The  person  who 
rooms  over  my  head,  and  who  has  been  sitting  on  the 
side  of  his  bed  and  drumming  with  his  boot-heels  for  a 
good  half  hour,  at  length  becomes  quiet.  The  clock 
strikes  twelve,  and  "Our  Entry"  is  still. 


Enber  tl)e  (Katies. 

"  In  tattered  old  slippers  that  toast  at  the  bars, 
And  a  ragged  old  jacket  perfumed  with  cigars, 

Away  from  the  world  and  its  toils  and  its  cares, 
I've  a  snug  little  kingdom  up  four  pair  of  stairs." 

— THACKERAY'S  BALLADS. 

AMONG  the  conditions  necessary  to  the  thorough  en- 
joyment of  college  life  I  reckon  a  "  den  "  in  the  fourth 
story,  and  an  open  stove.  He  who  glories  in  the  posses- 
sion of  only  one  of  them,  has  but  approximated  to  the 
true  style  of  living — while  that  man  who  hauls  up  at 
Commencement  day,  without  a  practical  acquaintance 
with  either,  at  some  point  during  the  previous  four 
years,  should  rather  be  pitied  and  frowned  upon  by  the 
conservative  portion  of  the  community,  than  he,  who, 
visiting  Rome,  neglects  to  see  St.  Peter's.  Perhaps  my 
opinion  is  so  warped  by  my  own  experience  as  to  lead 
me  to  set  an  undue  estimate  upon  the  advantages  arising 
therefrom.  But  I  never  pass  the  door  of  a  room  on 
the  first  story  without  a  shudder,  as  I  recollect  the 
gloomy  hours  of  a  long  winter  spent  in  hugging  a  mis- 
erable, ricketty,  cylinder  stove,  on  the  lower  floor  of 
North  Middle.  The  winds  howl  through  the  entry,  and 
the  windows  keep  up  a  continuous  rattling  as  though  the 
old  hulk  of  a  building  was  in  the  last  agony  of  an  ague  ; 
while,  ever  and  anon,  the  huge  old  entry  door  would  slam 
with  the  belching  noise  of  cannon.  In  the  lulls  between 
the  rolling  reverberations  which  rang  through  the  hall, 


UNDER   THE  EAVES.  69 

my  feelings  were  none  the  more  mollified  by  the 
loud  laughter  and  noisy  merriment  which  jolly  denizens 
of  upper  stories  could  afford  to  indulge  in.  As  a  con- 
sciousness of  the  dismal  nature  of  my  quarters  drove 
me  involuntarily  nearer  that  antiquated  apology  for  a 
stove,  I  pictured  in  glowing  colors  the  joyous,  whole- 
hearted jollity  of  an  upper  story  room — and  registered 
then  and  there  a  determination  to  take  up  my  abode  as 
near  the  roof  as  possible,  and  at  the  first  convenient  op- 
portunity. 

When  spring  time  came,  too,  and  the  kindly  sun 
warmed  every  thing  into  new  life,  for  most  localities  ; 
when  vegetation  unfolded  everywhere  and  flooded  the 
land  with  new  beauty  ;  when  songs  of  birds  and  balmy 
airs  floated  in  at  fourth  story  windows — a  loathsome 
miasma  hung  about  that  lower  floor,  and  a  sickening 
damp  settled  on  my  very  soul.  Then  rheumatic  pains 
smote  me  hip  and  thigh,  bad  colds  were  rife  in  the  land, 
excuse  papers  in  extensive  demand,  and  whiskey 
punches  venial.  Thrifty  Nature  never  fails  to  follow  up 
her  advantages,  and  when  proper  provision  for  any  of  her 
favorites  has  once  been  secured,  without  further  ado  she 
installs  them  in  their  new  estate.  On  this  principle  I 
soon  found  an  extensive  field  for  botanical  research 
opened  before  me.  Multifarious  fungi  vegetated  upon 
inviting  books  and  boots  already  prepared  for  their 
accommodation — and  the  mould  epoch  was  upon  me  ; 
a  stifling  dullness  prevaded  my  very  bones,  and  I 
abandoned  once  and  forever,  all  belief  in  the  theory 
which  denies  to  cold  the  nature  of  a  positive  force — Sir 
Isaac  Newton  and  the  French  Academy  to  the  contrary, 
notwithstanding.  The  man  who  has  dwelt,  as  I  have, 
amid  the  pestilential  damps  which  in  spring-time  "  love 
to  linger"  around  —  North  Middle,  knows  from  experi- 


70  DORMITORY   LIFE. 

ence  that  the  vampire  which  fastened  upon  him  is  some- 
thing more  than  a  negation. 

In  the  first  place,  the  consciousness  of  being  top  of 
the  heap,  is  a  genuine  satisfaction.  And  as  you  mount 
to  successive  lofts,  finally  to  emerge  in  that  purer, 
healthier  atmosphere  which  circulates  over  the  topmost, 
suggestive  of  the  clear-toned  intellectual  work  which  it 
allows  and  fosters,  like  the  "Autocrat's"  Nautilus, 
you  feel  that  your  heart,  too,  has  risen  into  more 
ethereal  regions,  and  rid  itself  of  some  of  the  shackles 
which  clogged  it  below.  A  feeling  of  relief  is  habitual 
to  a  dweller  under  the  eaves  when  he  gains  his  room — 
a  sense  as  it  were  of  having  escaped  from  a  close  and 
stifling  smoke.  It  is,  therefore,  no  wonder  that  so  many 
of  those  genial  authors  of  the  "  Sketch  Book  "  and  "  Ik 
Marvel  "  school,  who  make  their  way  to  the  heart,  by  a 
mysterious,  electric  kind  of  sympathy,  whose  instincts 
are  so  ready  and  pure,  whose  thoughts  are  as  clear-ring- 
ing and  harmonious  as  the  sounds  of  silver  bells,  should 
be  found  under  the  eaves,  away  up  and  above  the  noise 
and  tumult  and  grovelling  bickerings  of  more  sublunary 
regions.  And  the  universality  of  the  fact,  that  such 
men  never  pitch  their  tents  on  a  platform  much  lower 
than  the  eaves,  cannot  be  accounted  an  accident,  nor 
explained  upon  any  such  grounds  as  that  the  state  of 
authors'  finances  generally  necessitates  it.  The  reason 
lies  deeper,  and  can  be  found  only  in  this  feeling  of  re- 
lief from  restraint,  escape  from  interferences. 

Nobody  but  your  friends  and  the  printer  to  the  Wood- 
en Spoon  Committee,  ever  come  to  the  fourth  story ; — 
and,  provided  you  have  settled  your  own  dues  to  this 
latter  functionary,  and  do  not  rejoice  in  a  chum  who 
never  ventures  down  Chapel  street  in  day-light,  for  fear 
of  encountering  him — you  may  rest  assured  that  every 


UNDER  THE   EAVES.  71 

tap  at  your  door  is  a  friend's  tap.  That  abominable 
practice  of  habitually  keeping  one's  door  locked,  from 
morning  till  night,  and  deliberately  turning  a  deaf  ear  to 
every  knocker,  therefore,  does  not  obtain  in  the  fourth 
story.  There  is  no  temptation  in  the  first  place  ;  and,  in 
the  second  place,  none  of  your  one-horse  men,  who  have 
so  little  of  a  gentleman's  and  a  classmate's  feeling  as  to 
be  willing  to  sit  still  and  hear  a  disappointed  visitor  go 
away  without  an  invitation  to  walk  in,  ever  get  so  high 
up  in  the  world. 

Such  a  situation  imparts  a  sense  of  power  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  your  ability  to  indulge  in  noise  to  your 
heart's  content  without  the  possibility  of  retaliation. 
Everything,  too,  betokens  a  loftier  grade  of  existence, 
when  you  reach  the  fourth  story.  No  Tutors  room  there. 
And  even  the  cigar-smoke,  which  floats  in  mazy  clouds 
through  the  entry,  grows  more  fragrant,  as  you  mount 
the  stairs,  till  the  aromatic  odors  which  greet  the  olfac- 
tories on  the  topmost  flight  waft  the  imagination  to  that 
great  and  glorious  section  of  our  country,  where  tobacco 
is  not  all  oak  leaves,  and  which,  during  our  Freshman 
year,  we  characterize  as  the  "  sunny  south."  Dwellers 
on  the  fourth  story  invariably  smoke  good  tobacco. 

Above  all,  when 

"  Long,  long  thro'  the  hours,  and  the  night,  and  the  chimes, 
Here  we  talk  of  old  books,  of  old  friends,  of  old  times ; 
As  we  sit  in  a  fog  made  of  rich  Latakie, 
This  chamber  is  pleasant  to  you,  friend,  and  me." 

But 

"  When  the  candles  burn  low  and  the  company's  gone, 
In  the  silence  of  night,  as  I  sit  here  alone—" 

a  peculiar  charm  invests  the  place  ;  a  sense  of  down- 
right comfort,  of  utter  independence,  of  individuality, 


72  DORMITORY  LIFE. 

comes  over  me.  The  droning,  soothing  hum  of  voices, 
underneath,  is  the  only  sound  without ;  every  unpleas- 
ant feeling,  and  all  unrest,  is  lulled  to  sleep  ;  and  the 
monotonous  ticking  of  the  clock  makes  music  for  the 
thoughts  which  come  trooping  rhythmically  along  to  find 
expression  and  embodiment  in  fireside  lyrics.  Student- 
feeling,  that  mysterious,  undefinable  charm  which  per- 
vades college  life,  and  hangs  a  halo  of  golden  memories 
around  the  spring-time  of  our  youth — has  then  its  max- 
imum development,  sways  us  perfectly.  And  every 
man  who  can  look  with  pleasure  in  after-life  upon  the 
four  years  spent  here,  and  has  roomed  in  the  fourth 
story,  must  feel  that  such  moments  as  these  impart  a 
warmth  and  glow  to  the  heart  which  can  be  got  nowhere 
else  than  in  college,  and  not  even  here  out  of  the  fourth 
story.  Those  who  have  neglected  their  last  chance  for 
a  college  room,  under  the  eaves,  have  made  a  mistake 
which  can  never  be  remedied, — an  assertion,  of  the  truth 
of  which  they  can  be  easily  convinced,  by  a  visit  to  the 
home  of  warm  hearts,  and  head-quarters  of  good  times, 
a  den  under  the  eaves. 

"  To  mount  to  this  realm  is  a  toil,  to  be  sure, 
But  the  fire  there  is  bright  and  the  air  rather  pure  ; 
And  the  view  you  behold  on  a  sunshiny  day 
Is  grand  thro'  the  old  trees  over  the  way." 


anb 


IT  MAY  not  possess  the  slightest  interest,  indulgent 
reader,  for  you  to  learn  that  I  am  a  senior  and  have 
moved  into  College.  Yet  I  announce  the  fact  as  the 
briefest  way  of  acquainting  you  with  my  position,  both 
intellectually  and  bodily. 

It  serves  to  set  forth  one's  surroundings  and  associ- 
ates to  be  thus  particular  at  the  outset.  The  paltry 
A.  B.  will  proclaim  your  dignity  after  graduation.  The 
august  alphabet  of  scholastic  graduation  will  announce 
you  doctor  of  divinity,  laws  or  physic,  in  short  anything 
you  please  ;  but  what  abbreviation,  what  perfection  of 
symbology  can  shadow  even  faintly  the  position  and 
attainments  of  a  senior?  A  graduate  seems  old,  and 
his  cares  are  on  the  increase.  He  may  put  on  a  white 
cravat,  and  with  looks  of  mild  expectation  wait  for  a 
call  till  his  coat  is  rusty  ;  he  may  seek  to  pocket  the 
fee  of  some  scapegrace  whom  his  legal  acumen  has  de- 
livered from  jail  or  the  halter  ;  or  he  may  take  to  bolus 
and  purgatives.  At  all  events  he  must  do  something, 
and  it  is  serious  business  in  any  shape.  But  to  have 
reached  the  last  year  of  a  College  course,  is  to  have  out- 
grown the  verdancy  and  follies  of  juvenility,  without 
encountering  the  responsibilities  of  mature  age  and 
busy  life.  I  may  be  deceived,  but  this  seems  just  my 
position  now.  In  College  too — North  College  of 
course.  It  matters  not  what  entry.  I  hate  sectionalism. 
To  room  out  of  College  is  to  be  about  half  "  towny." 


74  DORMITORY   LIFE. 

The  real  genuine  student  life  is  found  in  an  entry  well 
packed  with  jolly  fellows,  with  no  landlady  on  the 
lower  floor  and  no  squad  of  female  Celts  or  Teutons 
who  march  in  a  small  caravan,  night  and  morning,  from 
cellar  to  attic.  The  change  is  quite  an  era  in  my  life. 
It  is  a  new  thing  to  be  a  house-holder,  buying  carpets, 
towels  and  brooms.  My  room  is  right  pleasant  with 
its  snug  easy-chairs,  and  bracket  lamp,  and  those 
curtains,  not  turkey  red  after  the  fashion  of  the  vulgar 
— but  heavy  woolen,  with  green,  red  and  yellow  stripes. 

O,  it's  a  gay  room,  and  it's  jolly  to  think  it  is  my 
room.  Chum  of  course  thinks  the  same  thing.  Some 
little  conveniences  are  wanting,  to  be  sure :  I  miss  the 
matutinal  visit  of  a  certain  Celtic  maiden,  whose  skill 
imparted  rare  smoothness  to  my  sheets.  It  is  rather 
hard,  after  struggling  with  evil  spirits  through  the  day, 
to  sleep  in  a  bed  bedeviled  by  a  college  sweep.  There 
are  some  little  annoyances  too — it  is  easy  enough  to 
bear  all  the  yelling  and  rowing  of  nights.  In  fact  I  can 
join  right  lustily  in  making  a  noise  myself ;  but  since 
rooming  in  college,  music  has  grown  to  be  my  special 
abhorrence.  The  man  above  me  has  a  melodeon,  the 
man  under  me  has  a  fiddle. 

The  orphean  notes  of  a  flute  warn  me  that  my  neigh- 
bor across  the  hall  is  just  beginning  to  learn  the  capa- 
bilities of  that  instrument ;  while  lastly,  the  chap 
through  the  partition  rejoices  in  a  piano  of  most  extra- 
ordinary properties,  the  most  prominent  of  which  is  a 
strong  magnetic  sympathy  with  the  performer,  whereby, 
strangely  enough,  bad  playing  makes  bad  music.  The 
melodeon  buzzes,  the  fiddle  shrieks,  the  flute  gasps  and 
the  piano  agonizes,  not  to  mention  frequent  serenades 
under  my  window  by  fellows  who  will  persist  in  the 
mistake  of  affirming  with  musical  emphasis  oft  repeated, 
that  I'm  "a  jolly  good  fellow." 


WHO   AND   WHERE?  75 

The  man  above  me  has  a  propensity  to  study  with 
united  powers  of  head  and  feet,  registering  each  newly 
acquired  idea  by  a  stout  thump  of  his  foot  ;  I  suppose 
his  head  is  like  a  patent  omnibus,  and  nothing  can  go 
into  it  without  an  entrance  signal,  for  one  day  when  he 
was  still,  I  noticed  that  he  flunked  in  division.  Be- 
sides all  this,  my  chum,  who  can't  sing  more  than  a 
hen,  has  joined  the  class  of  amateur  vocalists  who  prac- 
tice in  the  chapel  on  Monday  nights. 

It  is  quite  pathetic  to  hear  his  intonations  of  the  scale, 
or  his  trembling  efforts  at  the  unvarying  base  of  some 
exercise.  He  says  he  doesn't  expect  ever  to  reach  any 
professional  excellence,  but  it  is  so  pleasant  for  one's 
friends  and  in  society  to  be  able  to  sing  zuell,  (how  he 
emphasizes  that  word)  and  then  he  starts  off  into  an  un- 
certain rendering  of  "  Belle  Brandon,"  which  he  uncon- 
sciously runs  into  "  Bob  Ridley  O."  He  has  voice 
enough,  but  his  ear  is  at  fault.  Our  entry  is  of  course 
dedicated  to  the  Muses.  I've  a  serious  notion  of  set- 
ting up  a  bust  of  Apollo  in  our  room,  both  as  an  orna- 
ment, and  in  hopes  that  the  god  of  music  may  take  pity 
on  my  chum  and  change  him  into  a  nightingale,  or 
enable  him  to  appreciate  the  difference  between  singing 
base,  and  a  promiscuous  meandering  through  the  whole 
gamut  of  grum  gathered  tones.  But  music  is  only  one 
of  the  amusements  adopted  here.  There  are  others 
well  chosen  to  beguile  both  the  passing  hour  and  the 
passing  student.  There  has  been  a  rage  here  for  get- 
ting minerals,  stocking  aquaria,  keeping  dogs  and 
other  such  pursuits  ;  but  senior  year  has  inaugurated  a 
new  state  of  things.  Numbers  have  conceived  warlike 
tastes,  and  task  themselves  with  experiments  in  gun- 
nery and  observations  on  the  laws  of  projectiles. 
Some  exhibit  marks  of  decided  genius  in  the  dexterity 


76  DORMITORY   LIFE. 

with  which  they  manage  small  putty-guns  and  pea- 
blowers.  I  have  noted  that  their  aims  seemed  to  be 
low.  One  feels  quite  brave  to  stand  fire  before  windows 
bristling  with  pop-guns,  squirt-guns  and  water-pitchers. 
At  first  it  seemed  rather  funny  to  me  than  otherwise, 
but  after  getting  bestuck  with  putty,  pelted  sorely  with 
beans,  and  twice  drenched  with  water,  I  have  set  my 
face  "like  a  flint  "  against  such  procedure. 

It  destroys  confidence  in  mankind  and  makes  a  man 
the  slave  of  fear.  Who  that  has  heard  the  warning  cry 
of  "  Heads  out"  but  has  shrunk  from  the  possibility  of 
ducking  or  bombardment?  I  am  reminded  strongly  of 
the  dangers  and  mishaps  of  Juvenal's  time,  and  when  I 
walk  under  the  walls  of  North  College  the  force  of  his 
words  is  complete : 

"  Adeo  dot  fata,  quot  ilia 
Nocte  patent  vigiles,  te  praetereunte  fenestrae," 

and  when  water  splashes  about  me  and  compels  me  to 
an  unsought  ablution,  I  devoutly  add 

"  Ergo  optes,  votumque  feras  miserable  tecum 
Ut  sint  contentae  patulas  defundere  pelves." 


"toberc  bo  jion  Koom?" 

"  Where  the  squirt-gun  ever  squirteth." 

— PRIZE  POEM. 

I  do  not  room  in  college.  If  you  do  I  pit}'  you  ;  and 
not  without  reason  do  I  thus  make  you  the  object  of 
my  pity.  Does  a  college  room  remind  you  of  home? 
I  like  to  have  my  room  taken  care  of  by  a  woman,  no 
matter  whether  she  be  a  Celt,  or  of  African  extraction. 
A  man  was  never  made  to  sweep.  He  handles  the 
broom  awkwardly,  raises  a  mighty  dust,  and  finally 
doesn't  sweep  out  your  room.  Look  in  the  corners, 
under  the  chairs,  lounges,  and  table.  Does  it  look  as 
though  the  broom  had  been  there  recently?  Has  your 
furniture  ever  been  properly  dusted  by  a  man?  A  man 
can't  dust.  With  a  coarse  piece  of  canvas  he  rams  and 
jams  your  furniture,  as  if  he  were  preparing  for  a  prize- 
fight. Man  is  a  negative  power  in  the  varied  formula 
of  house-keeping ;  yet  men  take  care  of  the  rooms  of 
those  who  room  in  college.  Did  you  ever  sleep,  with 
any  comfort,  in  a  bed  that  was  made  by  a  man  ?  Ugh  ! 
The  sheets  are  all  in  wrinkles.  They  persist  in  being 
nearer  the  head  of  the  bed  than  the  blanket,  and  the 
blanket  agrees  with  the  quilt  to  open  a  communication 
with  the  atmosphere  and  the  foot  of  the  bed.  Pleasant 
to  sleep  in  such  a  bed,  isn't  it?  Yet  you  pay  a  good 
deal  for  such  pleasure.  How  much  money  and  intellec- 
tual labor  did  you  spend  in  fitting  up  your  room  ?  You 
will  never  get  half-price  for  that  furniture  when  you 
leave.  That  carpet  looks  gorgeously,  but  those  rain- 


78  DORMITORY   LIFE. 

bow  tints  are  perishable.  The  mat  at  the  door  will  not 
save  it,  for  students  will  not  always  wipe  their  feet. 
Spittoons  will  not  save  it,  entreaties,  yea,  even  tears, 
will  not  preserve  it  from  stains,  and  rents,  and  quick 
decay.  That  furniture  will  soon  be  broken  and  cut,  be- 
cause students  will  know  that  you,  and  not  a  landlord, 
own  it.  Yet,  rooming  in  college  is  nice  ! 

My  sweep  never  disturbs  me  while  I  am  studying,  or 
wrapt  in  meditation.  My  room  is  taken  care  of  while  I 
am  at  breakfast,  and  when  I  return  everything  looks 
clean  and  comfortable ;  my  stove  has  been  cleared 
out,  and  the  fire  renewed  ;  my  books  arranged  in  order 
in  my  secretary ;  my  gown  and  slippers  placed  where 
they  should  be.  Not  a  bit  of  dirt  can  I  detect.  In 
such  a  room  one  can  study.  Who  can  foretell  the  ap- 
proach of  the  college-sweep,  or  who  can  predict  the 
time  of  his  departure  ?  When  you  would  be  studying, 
then  he  is  with  you.  He  cometh  in  without  knocking, 
and  if  you  are  studying  it  makes  no  difference  ;  the 
college-sweep  waits  for  no  man.  Oh,  horrid  !  to  be 
choked  and  filled  with  dust,  when  one  is  studying.  You 
throw  aside  your  books,  and  watch  the  ruthless  invader 
of  your  domestic  happiness,  and  as  you  see  him  bring 
confusion  out  of  chaos,  half  sweep  your  room,  half 
make  your  bed,  you  think  :  Well,  it's  a  glorious  thing 
to  room  in  college  !  When  I  study,  I  like  to  have  some 
essence  of  quiet  pervading  my  atmosphere.  Now  there 
can  never  be  any  noise  in  my  house  except  when  I 
make  it,  or  the  Freshman  who  has  the  room  next  to  me 
weeps  and  wails  for  the  lost  pleasures  of  the  parental 
roof.  He  is  easily  quieted,  however,  by  the  mild  sug- 
gestion, on  my  part,  that  if  the  Sophs,  should  hear  him, 
they  would  smoke  him  out.  Moreover,  there  is  nobody 
rooming  above  me  to  throw  water  upon  me  whenever  I 


"WHERE  DO  YOU  ROOM?"  79 

put  my  head  out  of  the  window  to  view  the  face  of 
nature,  or  note  the  passer-by.  No  treacherous  cry  of 
"  Heads  out,"  salutes  mine  ears.  No  "  squirt-gun," 
annihilating  space,  throws  a  volume  of  water  into  my 
window,  destroying  the  neatness  of  my  attire.  I  rise  in 
the  morning,  and  find  that  no  one  has  amused  himself 
during  the  night  by  breaking  my  windows.  I  am  not 
bored,  hour  after  hour,  by  loafers.  I  am  not  locked  in 
my  room  because  I  leave  my  key  on  the  outside  of  the 
door.  I  do  not  have  to  lend  charcoal  and  kindling- 
wood  to  my  friends,  who  happen  "  to  be  out,"  and  al- 
ways fail  to  return  what  they  borrowed.  A  box  of 
matches  lasts  me  a  week.  I  can  make  a  noise  in  my 
room  without  being  disturbed  by  a  tutor.  A  nigger 
does  not  poke  his  wool  into  my  room  every  day,  and 
interrogate  me  thus:  "  Eny  appleths?"  Ugh!  No  old 
Jew  disturbs  my  study  hours  by  opening  my  door,  and 
saluting  me  thus:  "Fine  day?  any  old  clothes,  my 
dear  ?"  No  ragged  thief  comes  to  my  door  and  asks 
for  half  a  dollar,  "  to  kape  himself  and  family  of  fif- 
tain  children  from  starvin."  No  little  girl,  with  the  ap- 
pearance of  Sappho  on  a  drunk,  besieges  my  door  for  a 
"  penny."  No  professor  surprises  me  by  an  unexpected 
call.  No  student,  lost  to  all  sense  of  honor,  steals  my 
door-mat,  or  writes  something  "  wery  phunny  "  on  my 
door. 

In  fine,  I  do  not  room  in  college.  I  may  lose  much 
of  college  life;  but  what  I  have  lost  is  less  than  that 
which  I  have  gained.  Not  that  I  am  not  social ;  I  love  to 
be  with  men,  see  their  varied  characters,  listen  to  the 
good  joke,  and  hear  a  hearty  outburst  of  humor.  But 
there  are  times  when  we  wish  to  be  alone,  when  privacy 
and  silence  are  the  most  genial  companions,  and  medi- 
tation undisturbed  brings  a  fund  of  enjoyment. 


8O  DORMITORY   LIFE. 

I  not  only  room  in  town,  but  I  room  alone.  I  have 
no  chum.  Those  who  room  in  college  generally  have 
chums.  I  do  not  like  a  chum.  I  may  be  odd,  but  I 
have  never  yet  seen  the  domestic  felicity  of  having  a 
chum.  The  desires,  feelings,  and  sentiments  of  no  two 
men  are  alike.  From  this  law  of  our  nature  arise  jeal- 
ousies, dissensions,  and  world-wide  separations.  There- 
fore, you  never  find  a  chum  who  thinks  as  you  do,  who 
acts  as  you  act,  or  who  conducts  himself  according  to 
your  rule  of  conduct.  If  I  wished  to  admire  and  re- 
spect a  man,  I  would  never  chum  with  him,  for  then  I 
should  see  his  weak  points,  and,  in  the  estimation  of 
character,  man  never  fails  to  fully  consider  weak  points. 
There  are  various  kinds  of  chums.  There  is  the  noisy 
chum.  He  always  bangs  the  door  after  him,  bangs  the 
books,  bangs  the  curtains,  and,  ten  chances  to  one,  com- 
pletes the  programme  by  banging  you.  He  never 
studies  when  you  study,  he  either  whistles,  hums, 
drums,  or  talks,  just  when  you  wish  to  have  things 
quiet.  He  even  can't  study  without  making  a  noise. 
He  drops  his  book  frequently,  turns  over  leaves  as  if 
they  were  so  many  grind-stones,  studies  aloud,  or,  if 
you  request  him  to  study  to  himself,  sets  up  a  con- 
founded buzzing.  I  should  perfectly  despise  a  dirty, 
careless  chum,  for  such  there  are.  He  considers  dirt 
the  unmistakable  sign  of  genius.  He  never  wipes  his 
feet  on  the  mat,  pulls  oft"  his  boots  and  throws  them 
anywhere  but  in  the  closet.  Scarcely  ever  brushes  his 
hair,  or  puts  on  purified  linen.  Never  hangs  up  his 
coat,  shawl,  or  cap.  He  either  puts  his  feet  in  a  chair, 
or  on  the  table.  He  never  puts  his  books  in  the  secre- 
tary, but  piles  them  up  on  the  table,  or  throws  them  on 
the  floor.  If  he  fills  the  lamp,  he  is  sure  to  tip  it  over ; 
or,  if  he  writes  a  letter,  he  overturns  the  inkstand.  If 


"WHERE  DO  YOU  ROOM?"  81 

you  remind  him  of  his  fault,  he  grins  and  says,  "Thun- 
der !  I  don't  care."  The  literary  chum  must  be  perfectly 
unendurable.  He  has  wisely  concluded  to  study  enough 
to  keep  in  college,  and  devote  the  rest  of  his  time  to 
literature.  His  mind  is  too  gigantic  in  its  faculties  and 
capacities,  to  be  trammelled  by  stud)'.  If  you  are  studi- 
ous, he  looks  down  upon  you,  and  speaks  of  your  con- 
tracted notions  of  life,  and  its  work.  He  is  always 
reading  and  troubling  you  with  the  few  ideas  he  has  col- 
lected. He  affects  an  acquaintance  with  all  ancient 
and  modern  authors,  and  to  complete  the  monkeyism 
of  his  literary  attainments,  corresponds  with  some 
newspaper,  and  writes  sage  criticisms  upon  college  life 
being  devoted  to  study.  He  calls  Junior  Exhibition 
and  Commencement  shams,  because  none  but  scholars 
speak  on  these  occasions.  He  thinks  literary  men  like 
himself  ought  to  be  allowed  to  come  upon  the  stage 
and  show  forth  the  true  intellectual  culture  of  the 
student.  I  only  hope  that  men  of  this  stamp,  of 
whom  we  have  many  in  college,  will  grow  wiser  as  they 
advance  in  years. 

What  shall  I  say  of  the  musical  chum  ? 

I  would  never  have  an  amateur  musician  for  a  chum. 
The  whistling  of  operatic  airs,  psalm-tunes,  and  negro 
melodies  is  decidedly  entertaining  when  you  are  trying 
to  master  "  Hamilton,"  or  appreciate  the  easy  flowing 
style  of  "  Guizot."  Does  your  chum  sing  in  the  choir  ?  If 
he  does,  murder  him  ;  for  often  has  he  made  the  psalm- 
tune  to  send  forth  a  hideous  discord.  Your  chum 
plays  on  his  flute,  piano,  melodeon,  cornet,  fiddle,  and 
horn,  in  study  hours  ;  therefore  I  wish  you  would  break 
his  instruments,  for  often  has  he  made  me  utter  many 
things  derogatory  to  his  character  as  a  musician  and 
gentleman. 


82  DORMITORY   LIFE. 

I  will  pass  by  the  rowdy  chum,  with  his  nocturnal 
inebriations  and  daily  headaches,  and  the  stingy  chum, 
who  won't  buy  matches,  and  barely  pays  for  his  share 
of  things,  and  conclude  my  enumeration  by  considering 
the  character  of  the  squirty  chum.  He  devotes  himself 
almost  exclusively  to  dress.  The  first  duty  in  the 
morning  with  him  is  to  select  a  cravat  and  a  beau-ideal 
choker.  His  study-hours  are  devoted  to  the  adornment 
of  his  outer-self,  and  the  hourly  parade  of  Chapel 
street.  To  be  disturbed  when  one  is  studying  by  such 
a  sickly  display  of  humanity,  is  distressing.  The  society 
of  such  a  youth  gives  one  a  moral  fever  and  ague.  He 
interrupts  your  meditations  with  a  discourse  upon  his 
personal  attractions,  his  popularity  with  the  ladies.  To 
him  the  cultivation  of  whiskers  is  the  progressive 
movement  of  civilization,  and  the  perfect  set  of  a  coat 
the  acme  of  human  happiness.  Deliver  me  from  such  a 
nice  young  man.  To  save  myself  from  the  possibility  of 
getting  one  of  these  chums,  I  do  not  room  in  college. 
Man  has  enough  to  do  with  the  frailty  of  human  nature, 
without  being  shut  up  in  the  room  with  it.  How  de- 
lightful to  be  sick  when  one  rooms  in  college  !  It  is  a 
wonder  that  you  ever  recover,  when  once  you  are 
stretched  upon  a  "  pallet  of  straw,"  in  one  of  those 
dark,  dismal  bed-rooms,  where  nothing  is  heard  but  the 
majestic  tread  of  the  bed-bug,  or  the  attenuated  voice 
of  the  cricket.  Your  meals  are  brought  to  you — cold — 
in  fit  order  for  the  digestion  of  a  pirate.  Notwithstand- 
ing you  are  sick,  there  is  as  much  noise  as  ever  around 
the  buildings.  And  as  you  endeavor  to  get  a  little 
sleep  amid  the  universal  racket,  you  wish  you  didn't 
room  in  college.  I  may  be  sick,  therefore  I  do  not 
room  in  college. 

I   am  "contented  with   my  rooms,   neatly  furnished, 


"WHERE  DO  YOU  ROOM?"  83 

always  kept  in  order  and  cleanliness.  Here  I  study,  and 
here  I  see  my  friends.  When  I  wish  quiet  here  I  have 
it,  but  when  I  desire  to  hear  a  bedlam  of  sounds,  have 
my  head  fired  at  by  innumerable  articles,  my  clothes 
drenched  by  an  omnipresent  squirt-gun  ;  in  fine,  when  I 
wish  to  see  "college-life,"  as  it  is  called,  I  lock  my 
door  and  go  over  to  the  college  buildings,  and  come 
back  with  rapid  pace. 


tjobbieo. 

In  number  X,  South  Middle,  rooms  he  whom  every 
one  calls  a  dig.  He  will  not  receive  you  very  en- 
thusiastically, nor  press  you  to  sit  down  if  you  step  in 
to  see  him  ;  and  while  you  stay  he  will  keep  casting 
impatient  and  significant  glances  at  his  book.  He  is 
working  for  stand,  getting  good  out  of  his  college 
course  ;  he  never  slurs  over  a  point,  nor  leaves  a  task 
unperformed  ;  and  when  he  meets  you  as  he  goes  rush- 
ing from  recitation  to  his  books,  or  from  his  books  to 
recitation,  he  casts  at  you  a  piteous  glance  of  contempt 
as  he  recalls  with  inward  satisfaction  the  wretched  fiz- 
zles which  you  are  in  the  habit  of  making,  in  contrast 
with  his  own  clean  and  faultless  recitations.  I  doubt 
if  the  subject  of  the  dig  will  ever  be  fully  exhausted, 
and  if  all  the  theoretical  contempt  felt  for  him  will  ever 
be  heaped  upon  his  unfortunate  head,  but  particularly 
there  is  one  aspect  to  which  I  have  never  heard  refer- 
ence. I,  for  my  part,  am  Epicurean  enough  to  agree 
with  the  extremest  ideas  of  those  who  would  refer 
everything  which  we  do  to  a  standard  of  pleasure.  One 
man  finds  his  chief  delight  in  dissipating,  another  revels 
in  floating  freely  on  the  feathery  foam  of  fashion  ;  an- 
other makes  muscle  his  god,  and  bows  before  him  I 
while  a  fourth  reads  with  the  greatest  of  pleasure  the 
beauties  of  the  literature  of  all  ages.  These  four  classes 
of  men  who  work  for  pleasure,  are  the  ones  who  find 
most  fault  with  "  digs."  Did  it  never  occur  to  them 


HOBBIES.  85 

that  these  poor  individuals  may  feel  as  intense  a  satis- 
faction in  poring  hour  after  hour  over  what  is  stupid 
and  repulsive  to  ordinary  men,  as  they  do  in  their 
pleasures,  which  are,  perhaps,  more  easily  understood  ? 
Every  man  in  college  is  in  some  sense  a  man  of  one 
idea.  Notwithstanding  our  boasted  educational  system, 
there  is  little  versatility  of  talent  among  us.  Every- 
body everywhere  has  his  hobby,  but  nowhere  is  he  more 
apt  to  ride  it  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else,  than  at 
college.  Talk  to  any  of  us  and  see.  Observe  how  far 
beyond  the  ordinary  exchange  of  civilities  you  can  go 
in  fluent  conversation  with  a  college  man  unless  either 
he  or  you  strike  your  one  idea.  Let  the  society  man 
run  along,  and  in  how  short  a  time  will  he  begin  to  re- 
tail New  Haven  gossip  ;  to  tell  you  about  this  party  or 
that,  which  he  has  attended  ;  to  give  you  his  opinion 
about  Miss  Jones  and  Miss  Brown,  whom  he  considers 
the  handsomest  young  ladies  in  the  city,  but  at  the  same 
time,  he  thinks  that  although  the  features  of  the  former 
are  faultless,  she  is  somewhat  lacking  in  animation  and 
vivacity  ;  while  the  other,  though  animated  and  viva- 
cious enough,  has  her  beauty  somewhat  marred  by  a 
lisp,  which  is  extremely  disagreeable  to  him.  Casually 
remark  to  the  heavy  literary  man  by  way  of  light  con- 
versation, that  you  have  a  composition  to  write  on  the 
"  Founding  of  Constantinople,"  and  then,  if  you  do  not 
want  to  have  a  long  list  of  books,  beginning  with 
Ruskin  and  continuing  ad  infinitum,  together  with  this 
gentleman's  opinion  hurled  at  you,  you  had  better  van- 
ish at  once.  Ask  a  votary  of  art,  ironically,  if  he  had  a 
pleasant  call  on  some  ancient  lady  whom  you  heard  he 
had  to  go  and  see,  and  listen  as  he  replies,  "  Oh,  yes  ; 
she  paints  beautifully,"  and  then  makes  a  graceful 
transition  to  some  learned  remarks  on  the  Jarves  col- 


86  DORMITORY   LIFE. 

lection.  But  above  all,  if  you  would  see  this  idea 
illustrated,  take  a  walk  with  the  man  who  is  working 
for  class  honors,  and  behold  with  what  astonishing 
celerity  he  will  hang  himself,  at  least  in  your  estima- 
tion, if  you  will  only  give  him  rope  enough,  as  he  un- 
wittingly unravels  all  his  hopes  and  all  his  expectations. 
The  good  of  a  college  course  has  often  been  said  to 
lie  in  the  greatest  degree  in  its  social  aspect.  And  its 
social  aspect  in  turn,  finds  its  utmost  perfection  in 
dormitory  life.  Here  the  pure  gold  and  the  dross  are 
quickly  detected.  Men  who  have  lived  at  home  or 
have  been  otherwise  isolated,  may  pass  for  pleasant 
fellows  to  those  who  see  them  only  long  enough  to  bow 
to  them.  But  when  you  see  a  man  every  day,  are  in 
his  society  constantly,  hour  after  hour,  all  the  lights  and 
shadows  of  his  character  are  quickly  revealed.  I  do 
not  form  my  estimate  of  what  a  man  is  worth  by  his 
conduct  at  any  one  time,  be  he  wonderfully  brave  or 
wonderfully  cowardly  then.  I  take  a  sort  of  mean  of 
how  he  acts  under  all  the  different  circumstances  under 
which  I  see  him  placed.  Here  you  cannot  shut  your 
mouth  and  look  wise,  and  pass  for  a  genius.  Here  no 
allowances  are  made  for  your  foibles  and  varying 
moods.  No  one  cares  for  you  more  than  for  any  one 
else  ;  and  if  you  do  not  choose  to  make  yourself  agree- 
able, there  are  plenty  who  do.  What  a  bracing  effect 
on  one's  powers  of  conversation  and  one's  ability  to 
carry  himself  carefully  and  agreeably,  will  the  thought 
of  his  position  in  popular  esteem  for  three  years,  have 
on  any  reflecting  man  ! 


PEN    PORTRAITS. 


You  may  perhaps  remember  that  when  Mrs.  Feathery 
Flake  had  assembled  at  a  charming  dinner  a  company 
composed  exclusively  of  illustrious  savants  in  the  hope 
of  an  accompanying  feast  of  reason  and  a  display  of 
mental  fireworks,  she  was  greatly  disappointed  in  the 
event  by  reason  of  the  intellectual  inhospitality  of  the 
guests,  who  found  no  level  unroughened  by  acrid  con- 
tradictions. John  Stuart  Mill  advised,  "  know  something 
of  everything  and  everything  of  something."  And  I  am 
inclined  to  think  that  he  who  is  regarded  as  the  model 
student  is  neglectful  of  the  former  section  of  the  motto, 
while  I  know  that  college  life  is  relieved  from  a  state  of 
awful  grind  by  the  presence  of  those  who,  as  Elia  says, 
are  not  "  entirely  ignorant  of  anything."  I  am  heartily 
glad  that  our  tables  are  not  surrounded  by  pedantry. 
However,  I  do  not  wish  to  sketch  the  "  superficially 
omniscient"  character,  but  intend  to  introduce  an  old 
though  unclassified  friend  under  a  vague  name  which  is 
recognized  more  in  English  Universities  than  in  our 
own. 

Old  ! — for  what  set  does  not  know  the  president  of  the 
eating-club  senate?  Vague  ! — yet  appropriate,  though  I 
would  not  have  you  confound  it  with  the  "  man  about 
town  "  or  "  the  lounger  in  society."  Distant  equally  from 
the  dig  and  the  prodigal,  distinct  from  the  popular  and 
not  to  be  mentioned  in  the  same  breath  with  the  unpop- 
ular man,  yet  a  definite  type  in  the  student  world,  he  is 


Q2  PEN   PORTRAITS. 

conspicuous  by  a  delightful  unobtrusiveness, — this  man 
about  college,  whose  necktie  betokens  ease  and  whose 
whole  appearance  denotes  a  quiet  sociability.  The  pop- 
ular man  belongs  to  his  class,  chums  with  your  enemy 
and  is  everybody's  friend,  but  the  man  about  college 
has  a  lesser  orbit  and  is  confined  to  his  club  and  crowd. 
Acquainted  with  the  many  he  is  intimate  of  a  coterie. 

You  all  know  a  man  who  never  seems  to  have  any- 
thing to  do,  a  heedless  scholar,  an  habitue  of  the  theatre, 
and  a  retailer  of  small-talk,  who,  possessed  of  a  pleas- 
ing voice,  leads  the  singing  at  the  club  or  on  the  campus 
when  the  night  is  song-inspiring  and  whom  you  cannot 
censure  if  you  try.  Indeed,  one  to  whom  it  is  possible 
to  pay  more  compliments  and  less  praise  than  to  any 
other  in  our  midst.  Why  he  comes  to  college  is  easily 
explained.  His  father  was  college-bred  ;  it  is  the  thing 
to  do,  and  he  does  not  mind  having  a  liberal  education. 
He  shows  a  woeful  lack  of  ambition  and.  is  the  despair 
of  indulgent  professors,  but  he  is  the  embodiment  of 
social  sympathy  and  occupies  the  grassy  slopes  apart 
from  the  cold,  commanding  summits  and  the  wild  though 
attractive  precipices  of  the  collegiate  steep.  The  man 
pursuing  his  own  interests  has  no  time  to  think  of 
yours,  and  presents  a  cold  front  to  your  advances,  nor 
has  the  fast  man  the  desire  to  enter  into  the  serious  side 
of  your  life.  Here  then  this  man  has  his  place  in  the 
body  collegiate.  He  is,  fortunately,  as  liberal  in  his 
ideas  as  in  his  studies  ;  can  talk  on  as  many  subjects  as 
a  reporter,  and  intelligently,  on  all  ;  does  a  number  of 
things  with  fair  skill,  excels  in  no  games,  although  you 
have  a  suspicion  that  he  could  if  he  tried,  (luckily  he 
does  not),  and  neither  demands  nor  deserves  success. 
He  is,  in  fine,  simply  the  man  about  college. 

I  have  limited  him  to  a  circle  of  friends  because  he  is 


THE  MAN   ABOUT  COLLEGE.  93 

not  what  is  known  as  a  prominent  man.  He  neither 
aspires  to  the  councils  of  legislation  nor  desires  schol- 
astic eminence  and  professional  glory.  But  in  sociabil- 
ity he  is  the  most  attractive  of  his  fellows.  He  is 
something  of  a  cheerful  philosopher  and  his  point  of 
view  enables  him  to  see  a  very  comfortable  side  of  life. 
He  has  an  attractive  store  of  knowledge  of  a  kind  un- 
known to  other  men,  derived  from  observation  and  ex- 
perience. Neither  is  his  stock  of  conversation  merely 
laughing-gas,  nor  in  his  nature  is  there  any  part  of  the 
mordant  trinity  of  envy,  jealousy  and  scurrility.  He  is, 
too,  an  engaging  listener,  so  that  he  both  invites  and 
gives  confidence.  He  is  your  best  friend.  To  parody 
Byron,  he  not  only  has 

"The  art  of  drawing  people  out, 
Without  his  knowing  what  he  is  about," 

but  he  also  discourses  of  himself,  while  he  lets  you 
parade  your  views  of  life  and  humanity,  your  secret  as- 
pirations and  your  petty  cares,  to  your  great  relief.  A 
thousand  times  he  hath  borne  me  on  his  back  out  of  the 
slough  of  despond  to  this  firmer  shore,  where  I  find 
placid  periods  of  contentment.  When  sad  and  sour,  he 
has  led  me  from  the  current  of  my  reflections  into  heart- 
easing  side  streams.  He  is  strung  with  fine  sensibilities 
and  can  both  cheer  and  sympathize.  O  best  of  words  ! 
A  sympathetic  exchange  of  ideas  is  a  necessity  for  the 
undergraduate,  however  much  some  may  try  to  conceal 
the  desire  by  an  affected  brusqueness.  This  is  the  very 
poetry  of  our  impressionable  existence,  and  the  man 
about  college  is  our  opportunity.  He  knows  the  cool- 
est walks  and  the  fairest  scenes,  the  most  interesting 
people  and  the  queerest  characters.  He  dabbles  in 
sailing,  the  amusement  most  suggestive  for  reflection, 
and  he  persuades  you  to  his  haunts  out  of  yourself.  To 


94  PEN   PORTRAITS. 

him  alone  do  you  unbosom  yourself,  and  with  him  you 
are  always  satisfied,  for  selfishness  is  foreign  to  his  na- 
ture. Such,  then,  is  his  sphere  of  usefulness.  Call  him 
idle  if  you  will.  I  would  not  have  him  changed,  and  I 
shudder  to  think  what  effect  the  monotonous  routine 
would  have  if  his  contrast  did  not  distract  our  weary 
minds.  It  is  he  who  forms  the  basis  of  college  friend- 
ship and  fellowship  that  seem  so  picturesque  to  the 
outside  world.  His  fun,  wit  and  sympathy  are  abso- 
lutely essential  to  the  success  of  universities.  When, 
in  the  days  to  come,  you  look  back  on  the  days  here, 
this  Yorick  will  first  occur  to  your  pleased  recollection. 

It  was  decidedly  late  the  other  night,  for  conversation 
had  been  prolonged  regardless  of  the  chiming  quar- 
ters, when  I  bade  my  visitor  "  Schlafen  Sie  wohl !" 
and  asked  him  the  old  question  "  why  don't  you  do 
something  ?"  "  Why,  my  dear  fellow,  he  replied,  I  war- 
rant you  I  take  more  pleasure  in  my  life  than  you  do 
in  yours.  It  never  occurs  to  me  to  ask  if  life  is  worth 
living.  And  for  me  my  knowledge  is  better  than  an  ex- 
act acquaintance  with  the  curriculum.  I  may  be  a  roll- 
ing stone,  but  in  my  rambling  course,  you  must  acknow- 
ledge that  with  my  polish  I  have  also  contrived  to  gather 
a  fair  quantity  of  tenacious  moss.  Fame  is  a  bauble 
that  shines  with  reflected  light,  and  to  me  its  intrinsic 
value  is  not  self-evident.  I  prefer  business  for  support 
and  a  few  trusty  friends  for  enjoyment.  Good  night !" 

And  I  doubt  not  but  that  this  careless  fellow,  whose 
flattery  is  always  flattering  and  whose  criticism  is  frank, 
earnest  and  good-natured,  although  distinguished  in 
neither  letters  nor  science,  will  have  one  of  the  happiest 
of  homes.  He  is  indeed  more  than  a  subject  for  de- 
scriptive negation.  Respect?  No.  Admiration?  Im- 
possible. Regard  and  affection?  Need  I  make  reply? 


®l)e  SDtm. 

ALMOST  every  type  of  character  which  figures  in  a 
student's  life  has  been  written  of,  has  been  extolled  or 
vilified,  according  to  the  impressions  which  it  has  made 
on  the  author  ;  but,  so  far  as  I  can  determine,  no  great 
space  has  ever  been  allotted  to  the  dun  ;  and,  though  no 
skillful  wielder  of  the  quill,  yet  from  my  experience  in 
the  matter,  which  has  been  not  less  extensive  than 
varied,  I  flatter  myself  that  a  few  words  from  me  on  this 
subject  will  prove,  at  least,  instructive.  My  experience 
has,  as  I  remarked,  been  varied.  It  commenced  while 
at  a  primary  school,  where  the  rage  was  collecting  post- 
age stamps.  One  day  I  sold  one  to  my  desk-mate — I 
remember  it  well, — it  was  a  red  Costa  Rica  stamp,  and 
I  was  to  give  it  to  him  for  eight  cents.  He  gave  me  a 
ten  cent  bill  and  I  gave  him  a  cent  in  change  and  prom- 
ised to  bring  the  other  the  next  day.  I  didn't  bring  it 
and  he  dunned  me  until  he  left  school.  That  was  be- 
ginning early,  and  duns  have  haunted  me  ever  since. 
Of  duns  there  are  several  varieties :  there  is  the  meek  but 
persistent  dun  ;  the  cross  and  surly  dun  ;  the  sarcastic 
dun,  and  the  one  who  tells  a  sad  story  of  the  hard 
times.  This  mournful  dun  is  the  hardest  to  manage 
until  one  becomes  callous. 

All  duns  have,  however,  a  great  many  points  of  re- 
semblance ;  and  one  is  the  way  in  which  they  come  to 
your  room.  You  can,  with  a  little  experience,  tell  them 
by  their  approach,  and  fortunate  is  it  for  the  dunned 


96  PEN   PORTRAITS. 

that  they  necessarily  betray  themselves.  A  student, 
coming  to  your  room,  will  usually  come  up  the  stairs 
on  a  run,  either  whistling  or  singing,  and  give  a  quick 
rap  at  the  door.  One  coming  in  this  way  it  is  always 
quite  safe  to  admit ;  but  when  a  man  comes  who  walks 
with  a  slow  and  measured  step,  and  when  at  the  top  of  the 
stairs  stops  and  looks  at  the  number  of  the  room,  and 
then  knocks  two  or  three  times — to  such  a  one,  if  you 
are  wise,  you  will  always  sport  the  oak.  Let  him  stand 
there  till  he  freezes,  but  keep  dark  inside. 

Once  I  changed  rooms  temporarily  with  a  man  at  the 
other  side  of  the  building,  and  we  sent  away  each 
other's  duns.  This  worked  well  until  a  common  foe, 
who  knew  us  by  sight,  was  sharp  enough  to  catch  me. 
A  landlady  is  a  tough  customer  to  manage  ;  she  can 
pounce  on  you  at  meal  time,  and  you  are  defenceless  ; 
she  will  put  you  on  short  commons  and  starve  you  into 
payment  ;  she  will  abuse  you  and  often  shed  tears,  and 
finally  drive  you  to  desperation.  Another  mean  dun  is 
the  collector  of  base  ball  and  boating  subscriptions. 
He  is  up  to  most  of  the  wrinkles,  and  can  get  at  you  on 
the  campus.  If  he  is  an  upper-class  man  and  you  are 
below  him,  you  have  a  hard  road  to  travel,  as  a  man  of 
known  and  tried  cheek  is  usually  put  on  the  trail,  who 
will  bluff  you,  show  you  your  written  promise  to  pay, 
insult  you,  and  use  every  means  to  bring  you  to  terms. 
Not  answering  to  a  knock  don't  work  with  him,  as  he'll 
walk  in,  open  the  closet  and  bedroom,  and  if  he  don't 
find  you  he'll  sit  down  and  read  your  novels  for  awhile 
and  wait.  A  friend  of  mine  was  kept  under  his  bed  for 
an  hour  and  had  to  cut  recitation,  while  the  persecutor 
amused  himself.  I  have  often  wondered  whether  a  dun 
has  a  soul  or  any  feelings.  I  cannot  state  positively,  but 
my  opinion  is  that  he  is  devoid  of  both.  I  have  known 


THE   DUN.  97 

sharp  duns,  patient  and  persistent  duns,  mean  duns,  un- 
bluffable  duns,  and  duns  provocative  of  great  profanity, 
but  I  never  knew  one  in  which  all  these  things  were  so 
symmetrically  combined,  as  in  a  creature  employed  by 
a  leading  carpet-dealer  in  this  city,  and  who  last  fall 
made  my  life  a  continual  game  of  hide  and  seek.  This 
man  represented  a  wealthy  firm  to  whom  I  was  unfor- 
tunate enough  to  owe  fifteen  dollars.  The"  first  Monday 
of  last  term  he  appeared  bright  and  early  and  asked  for 
his  money.  I  told  him  that  I  had  none,  and  put  him  off 
indefinitely.  In  a  week  he  came  again,  and  was  dismissed 
at  once.  At  the  end  of  seven  days  he  was  again  there  ; 
this  time  he  argued  the  matter.  I  blustered  ;  he  was  mild 
and  persistent,  and  my  chum  smiled  and  stroked  his  new- 
born mustache.  Finally,  I  got  rid  of  him.  After  this  his 
visits  became  more  and  more  frequent ;  he  would  be  at 
the  fence,  at  the  door  of  the  recitation-room,  and  always 
with  the  same  bland  expression  and  paper  collar.  He 
never  lost  his  temper  or  showed  any  resentment  at  my 
profanity  ;  only  once  he  looked  "  not  angry,  only 
grieved."  How  I  longed  for  him  to  say  one  insult- 
ing word  for  which  I  could  hit  him  !  How  I  tried 
to  lead  him  into  telling  me  I  had  lied  to  him  !  It  was 
of  no  avail.  There  was  not  a  word  or  act  which  I  could 
take  up,  but  I  got  to  dread  and  hate  the  man.  I  rarely 
visited  my  room  except  in  the  evening  and  on  Sundays. 
Finally  my  spirit  was  broken,  and  I  felt  that  I  was  his. 
One  morning  I  saw  him  coming  up  the  street ;  I  stood 
in  another  entry  smoking  with  a  crowd,  and  watched 
him  ascend  to  my  room.  I  waited  nearly  an  hour,  and 
supposed  he  had  returned  to  h'is  den  on  Chapel  street  ; 
so  with  courage  I  went  to  my  castle.  Alas,  I  found  the 
enemy  there,  talking  politics  with  my  chum.'  Frantic 
with  fright  and  chagrin,  I  shrieked,  "  Come  at  five  this 

4 


98  PEN   PORTRAITS. 

afternoon  and  I'll  pay  you  !"  At  half-past  four  that 
day,  accompanied  by  a  friend,  I  crept  into  Max's  seques- 
tered retreat,  and  stayed  two  hours.  It  was  dark  when 
I  came  up  Chapel  street,  and  I  knew  the  viper  must 
have  gone  to  get  some  food.  But  what !  was  it  the  beer 
I  had  been  drinking,  or  was  it  a  reality  ?  A  second  glance 
at  the  gaunt  figure  standing  before  my  boarding-house, 
convinced  me  that  no  time  was  to  be  lost.  I  flew  as  if 
on  wings.  Two  days  later  I  surrendered  at  discretion, 
and  paid  up. 

This  is  a  true  story,  and  many  I  know  will  believe  it. 
When  I  paid  the  bill  I  congratulated  the  merchant  on 
having  so  fine  a  blood-hound.  He  told  me — with  pride, 
I  thought,  that  that  dun  had  driven  three  men  into  an 
insane  asylum,  one  to  suicide,  and  made  one  seek  re- 
lief in  drink.  He  said  he  had  more  like  him,  but  this  I 
will  not  believe.  I  often  see  him  flit  like  a  ghost  about 
the  campus,  and  I  am  told  that  he  is  a  frequent  visitor 
at  a  certain  old  building  on  the  row.  My  entry  is 
troubled  with  duns.  On  an  average  several  good  sized 
squads  of  them  come  up  there  every  morning.  We 
have  a  levee  from  nine  till  five  daily ;  the  evenings 
we  have  to  ourselves,  also  Sundays.  They  all  say  times 
are  hard.  We  have  a  dilemma  which  we  give  them  : 
"  Your  employer  is  rich  and  does  not  need  money ; 
therefore  he  should  not  annoy  me."  "Ah,  no  !"  is  the 
sad  reply,  "he  has  no  money."  "Then  he  can  appre- 
ciate my  situation."  Just  try  that  with  your  duns. 
Profanity  is  lost  on  them,  and  next  to  kicking  them 
down  stairs,  it's  the  most  comforting  thing  one  can  say 
to  them. 


V£!K  Sweep. 

THAT  I  have  had  opportunities  enough  for  studying 
character  in  college,  I  cannot  deny,  but  that  I  have  used 
them  at  all  as  I  ought,  I  cannot  claim.  In  only  one  case 
can  I  plead  an  exception,  and  even  in  that  I  deserve  no 
praise,  as  the  facts  of  the  case  fairly  thrust  themselves 
upon  my  notice,  and  the  conclusion  and  idea,  if  I  may 
dignify  them  by  such  a  name,  would  follow  almost  against 
my  will.  There  is  nothing  strange  in  this,  however,  for 
the  character  of  which  I  speak  is  so  rich  in  its  quaint 
humor,  and  yet,  at  times,  so  full  of  simple,  unobtrusive 
pathos,  that  it  could  scarcely  fail  to  strike  the  most  care- 
less observer,  while  there  is  in  it  no  dishonesty,  no  con- 
cealment or  distrustful  retirement  which  might  make  it 
hard  to  read. 

It  is  now  nearly  three  months  since  for  the  first  time  I 
heard  old  Jackson  toiling  with  slow  and  heavy  steps  up 
the  seven  flights  of  stairs  that  lead  to  my  room.  I  remem- 
ber that  I  almost  blamed  myself  for  their  height  and  num- 
ber, as  I  sat  thinking  of  his  stiff  rheumatic  joints,  and 
waiting  with  no  little  curiosity  to  see  how  he  would  go 
to  work  to  install  himself  in  this  new  room.  I  expected 
that  he  would  be  tired  out  and  perhaps  disgusted  with 
his  ascent,  but  then,  you  see,  I  did  not  know  the  man. 
Outside  the  door  I  heard  him  chuckling,  as  he  stood  for 
a  long  time  wiping  his  feet.  Ah  !  how  I  pitied  my  nice 
clean  mat,  that  it  met  with  such  usage  at  the  very  outset 
of  its  career.  But  once  inside  he  scarcely  stopped  to 


IOO  PEN   PORTRAITS. 

shut  the  door,  in  such  a  hurry  was  he  to  burst  out  into  a 
regular  guffaw.  His  laughter  was  so  contagious  that, 
though  I  knew  not  why  he  laughed,  I  joined  him.  At 
last  he  managed  to  ejaculate,  "  Golly,  this  are  high  !" 
and  then,  with  as  little  apparent  reason  as  he  had  for 
beginning,  he  suddenly  stopped  and  went  to  work.  This 
is  all  that  I  remember  of  that  first  day's  doings,  but 
though  he  displayed  no  wit  or  smartness,  and  certainly 
very  little  reverence  or  respect  for  my  presence,  I  have 
liked  him  from  that  time  till  now.  Since  then  I  have 
found  out  that  he  does  possess  both  wit  and  smartness, 
but  I  scarcely  like  him  better  for  my  discovery. 

Of  course  I,  as  every  one  else,  had  long  known  him  for 
a  queer,  good-humored  old  darkey,  but  had  not  thought 
him  much  more  peculiar  than  others  of  his  class  and  age. 
As  his  character  came  directly  under  my  notice,  however, 
and  his  oddities  were  gradually  brought  to  light,  almost 
the  first  thing  that  struck  me,  and  the  thing  which  above 
all  others  made  me  set  to  work  to  find  out  more  about 
him,  was  his  likeness  to  a  class  of  persons  whom  I  never 
thought  to  have  found  outside  of  half  a  dozen  Southern 
States,  the  real  old-fashioned  household  negro  servants. 
That  one  who  had  never  been  farther  south  than  New 
Jersey  should  greatly  resemble  a  class  so  entirely  sui 
generis  as  this  and  so  strictly  confined  as  I  thought,  to  a 
small  district,  at  once  attracted  my  attention  as  peculiar. 
His  perfectly  childish  love  of  mischief  and  of  laughter, 
merely  for  laughter's  sake  and  without  any  reference  to 
the  thing  which  caused  it,  and  the  queer  mixture  of  shy- 
ness and  simplicity  which  is  so  observable  in  him,  accord 
well  with  the  traditional  character  I  have  mentioned,  so 
common  in  fiction,  and  so  rare  but  real  in  life.  He  has, 
too,  just  the  proper  amount  of  personal  vanity,  as  I  dis- 
covered to  my  great  amusement  when  he  told  me,  in  the 


THE   SWEEP.  IOI 

most  matter-of-fact  way,  that  he  had  dyed  his  whiskers 
the  night  of  the  Jubilee,  and  that  the  stuffwould  not  come 
off;  but  most  of  all  he  has  in  perfection  the  oft-quoted 
pride  in  "  my  gentlemen,"  and  brags,  in  a  manner  worthy 
of  Gumbo  himself,  of  their  good  looks,  virtues  and  fine 
rooms,  with  little  remarks  thrown  in,  now  and  then,  by 
way  of  parentheses,  on  the  excellent  care  he  takes  of 
them. 

He  sets  full  lordly  value,  too,  upon  his  old  black  skin, 
and  has  very  little  inclination  to  put  it  in  unnecessary 
danger.  I  wish  that  I  could  give  you  in  his  own  words 
his  description  of  how  he  felt  and  how  he  acted  when  the 
torchlight  procession  which  he  led  was  attacked  in  the 
dark  by  an  armed  mob.  But  even  if  I  had  his  words,  his 
voice  and  manner  would  be  wanting,  and  the  story  half 
untold.  It  was  the  shouts  of  laughter,  laughter  at  him- 
self, that  accompanied  every  new  recollection,  and  made 
his  old  sides  shake  till  I  began  to  fear  the  consequences, 
his  animated  gestures,  the  naivete  with  which  he  con- 
fessed that  he  tried  to  run,  but  they  caught  him  and 
brought  him  back — these  things,  as  well  as  his  quaint 
language,  are  necessary  to  a  true  rendering  of  his  tale. 
The  entire  absence  of  any  feeling  of  shame,  and  the 
perfect  honesty  with  which  he  disclaimed  a  desire  to 
stand  still  and  be  shot,  take  away  from  his  action  all 
disgrace. 

He  has  a  faithful  heart,  withal,  and  a  little  kindness 
on  the  part  of  any  of  his  "  gentlemen  "  is  enough  to  win 
and  keep  its  affection  and  its  service.  He  came  to  me 
one  morning,  and  in  a  most  piteous  voice,  as  if  he  were 
asking  a  great  favor  for  himself,  requested  me  to  excuse 
him  from  spending  quite  his  usual  time  upon  my  room, 
as  he  was  in  a  hurry  to  go  to  the  other  end  of  town  to 
get  some  medicine  for  one  of  them.  And  as  I  listened 


102  PEN  PORTRAITS. 

to  his  usually  slow  step  descending  the  stairs  with  un- 
wonted rapidity,  and  saw  him  hobble  across  the  green, 
I  wondered  how  many  would  have  done  the  service  with 
as  good  a  will.  Yet  he  had  been  with  the  man  who  sent 
him  only  a  short  time.  And  when  the  invalid  went  home, 
at  first  he  would  ask  me  regularly  every  day  whether  I 
thought  he  was  there  yet  and  how  soon  he  would  be 
back,  though  I  as  regularly  denied  all  knowledge  of  the 
matter. 

So  far  I  found  his  character  to  coincide  with  those 
others  "  old  in  story,"  of  which  I  have  already  spoken, 
but  from  this  point  onward  the  difference  in  life  and 
education  begin  to  tell,  and  the  resemblance  is  almost 
lost.  Jackson  is  by  nature  lazy,  but  the  necessity  of 
hard  work  has  prevented  him  from  indulging  his  weak- 
ness until  he  has  become  strong — stronger,  perhaps, 
than  one  who  never  has  been  weak  and  therefore  never 
has  toiled  and  struggled  to  cure  himself.  But  it  is  in 
his  perfect  honesty  of  both  word  and  deed  that  he  differs 
mainly  from  his  Southern  brethern,  whose  thefts,  deceits 
and  lies  are  so  well  known.  Nothing  but  freedom  can 
ever  cure  them  ;  that  freedom  can  is  proven  in  Jackson's 
case.  Knowing  as  he  does  how  perfectly  worthy  of 
trust  he  is,  he  is  mortally  offended  if  any  one  refuses  to 
give  it  him.  Once  when  a  tradesman,  with  whom  he 
had  dealt  for  years,  refused  to  give  him  a  pair  of  rubber 
boots  on  credit,  though  he  knew  that  the  old  man's 
rheumatism  would  be  made  worse  by  going  out  into  the 
wet  without  them,  and  was  promised  his  pay  in  a  few 
days,  Jackson's  just  indignation  rose  against  him.  He 
gave  me  a  detailed  account  of  his  grievances,  and  I  was 
surprised  to  find  that  he  looked  at  the  matter  more  with 
shame  than  anger,  and  kept  saying,  "  I  didn't  think  he'd 
do  it.  No  !  I  didn't."  For  this  I  judged  that  his  show- 


THE   SWEEP.  IO3 

ng  no  shame  at  having  run  from  the  Irishmen  was  not 
the  result  of  a  lack  of  personal  honor,  but  of  "  educated  " 
honor.  He  did  not  appear  to  know  he  had  done  any- 
thing to  be  ashamed  of. 

One  quality  I  have  not  yet  been  able  to  detect  in  Jack- 
son, which  I  used  to  think  was  invariably  to  be  found 
under  a  black  skin, — I  mean  a  love  of  beauty.  Several 
times  I  had  noticed  things  which  I  thought  indicated 
such  a  deficiency,  but  so  sure  was  I  of  my  rule  which 
made  the  presence  of  the  quality  universal,  that  I  waited 
for  further  developments  before  forming  any  opinion. 
It  was  the  day  after  Thanksgiving  that  the  incident  oc- 
curred which  finally  decided  me.  I  have  often  thought 
that  under  favorable  circumstances  the  view  from  my 
lofty  window  is  one  of  considerable  beauty.  These  cir- 
cumstances are,  a  not  too  strong  light,  and  something, 
either  leaves  or  snow,  to  cover  and  soften  the  outline  of 
the  trees.  Then,  when  the  details  of  the  picture  are  not 
too  apparent,  its  loveliness  shines  forth.  Old  North  col- 
lege reaching  up  right  before  me  just  to  the  level  of  my 
eye,  with  the  chapel  spire  behind  it,  one  corner  of  Far- 
nam  on  my  left,  and  on  the  fight  the  whole  of  the  hand- 
some library  building — these,  with  their  enveloping 
rows  of  trees  and  a  stray  figure  or  two  crossing  the  cam- 
pus, make  up  of  themselves  a  truly  pleasing  scene. 
But  take  it  after  a  heavy  snow  storm,  when  "  Nature's 
white  mantle "  lies  thick  and  untrodden  upon  the 
ground,  and  clings  tenaciously  to  every  limb  and  twig 
and  gable  and  chimney-top,  when  a  few  flakes  still  linger 
in  the  air,  as  if  doubtful  whether  to  join  their  fellows 
upon  the  earth  or  to  return  to  their  lofty  home,  and  not  a 
human  being  is  in  sight  save  the  laborer  shoveling  drifts 
from  off  the  path — take  it  at  such  a  time,  and  in  its  way 
it  cannot  be  surpassed.  At  such  a  time  it  was  that  I 


IO4  PEN   PORTRAITS. 

called  Jackson  to  the  window,  determined  to  make  him 
praise  the  scene.  He  appeared  to  listen  attentively  to 
my  explanations,  and  then  muttering.  "  Yes,  sir  !  yes, 
sir !  it  is  a  bad  day,"  as  if  chilled  by  the  very  looks  of 
of  it,  crouched  down  by  the  heater  and  turned  his  face 
inside  the  room.  I,  of  course,  was  disgusted  ;  but  I 
soon  forgave  him,  for  it  was  that  very  day  he  had  failed 
of  getting  his  rubber  boots,  and  he  would  naturally  think 
only  of  the  cold  and  wet. 

Thanksgiving  day  I  asked  him  whether  he  was  going 
to  have  a  turkey  for  dinner,  and  his  answer  I  shall  not 
soon  forget.  The  old  man  is  very  fond  of  his  children 
and  his  invalid  wife,  and  I  could  see  that  thoughts  of 
them  and  their  cold,  cheerless  meal  would  rise  in  his 
mind  at  my  careless  question.  But  he  bravely  fought 
his  feelings  down  and  said,  with  a  poor  attempt  at  his 
old  hearty  laugh,  "  No,  sir  !  aint  got  nothing." 

But  I  hear  him  coming  up  the  stairs.  "  How  are  you, 
Jackson?" 


®lje  Bore. 

ON  one  of  those  rainy  days  that  were  seemingly  made 
for  reading,  I  occupied  myself  in  looking  over  an 
old  edition  of  Shakespeare,  the  First  Folio,  1623.  I 
was  in  a  rather  despondent  mood  and  somewhat  in- 
clined to  look  on  the  dark  side  of  everything,  probably 
owing  to  the  overcast  condition  'of  the  heavens  at  that 
time.  The  melancholy  Dane  being  in  some  degree  con- 
sonant with  my  feelings,  I  turned  to  Hamlet  and  read 
until  the  following  passage,  taken  from  the  second 
scene  of  the  second  act  arrested  my  attention  :  "  What 
a  piece  of  worke  is  a  man  !  how  Noble  in  Reason  ?  how 
infinite  in  faculty?  in  forme  and  mouing  how  expresse 
and  admirable?  in  Action  how  like  an  Angel?  in  ap- 
prehension, how  like  a  god  ?  the  beauty  of  the  world, 
the  Paragon  of  Animals."  The  glorious  panegyric  at 
first  filled  me  with  awe.  Can  it  be  that  such  beings  are 
daily  around  us  ?  There  must  be  a  mistake.  Was  the 
sixteenth  century  closed  and  the  seventeenth  ushered 
in  by  such  divine  creations?  Is  it  possible  that  none  of 
those,  who,  to  hold  our  attention,  must  hold  us  by  a 
button,  were  in  existence.  If  they  did  flourish  then, 
how,  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  reasonable,  was  such  a 
eulogy  on  man  ever  written  ?  Perhaps,  some  one  sug- 
gests, he  managed  to  escape  them  by  means  known  only 
to  men  of  the  loftiest  genius.  Such  a  supposition  I 
emphatically  deny,  as  it  implies  lack  of  human  sympa- 
thy by  withholding  the  talisman  for  such  troubles  ;  this 


IO6  PEN   PORTRAITS. 

no  one  would  charge  upon  him.  I  am  thus  forced  to 
conclude  that  bores  were  uncommon  in  what  must  have 
been  a  Golden  Age. 

The  rain  patters  down  incessantly,  and  my  eyes 
wearied,  leave  the  book,  but  the  thought  of  bores  hav- 
ing been  brought  up,  my  mind  clings  tenaciously  to  the 
subject.  The  long  procession  of  my  own  particular 
ones,  in  single  file,  marches  by.  The  first  who  comes 
to  view  is  a  sensible  man,  and  at  first  glance  one  would 
think  he  ought  not  to  be  numbered  among  such  a  dis- 
reputable class.  When  I  first  knew  him  I  thought  he 
was  an  interesting  talker  and  had  a  wonderful  amount 
of  useful  knowledge  at  command.  As  time  rolled  on  I 
came  to  know  him  quite  well ;  my  room  was  hardly 
e.ver  without  him.  In  matters  of  reading  he  was  always 
ready  to  suggest  the  best  books  and  give  a  synopsis  of 
them  unless  restrained  by  me.  I  never  expressed  an 
opinion  of  even  the  slightest  importance,  without  being 
immediately  challenged  and  required  to  support  it  with 
strong  authority.  At  night  as  I  gently  urged  him  to 
leave,  I  was  assailed  with  inexhaustible  stores  of  learn- 
ing and  "you  can't  back  up  that  about,"  &c.  He  is 
well  known  to  you,  so  we  shall  once  be  free  from  him 
by  crowding  in  the  next  behind. 

This  one  is  popularly  known  as  a  "  sponge."  Every- 
thing I  possess  he  takes  for  granted  is  at  his  disposal. 
I  thought  when  I  lent  him  the  first  book  it  was  a  fine 
stroke  of  policy,  in  fact,  a  sure  step  toward  becoming  a 
popular  man.  I  fancied  he  would  spend  all  his  spare 
time  reporting  "  what  an  obliging  man  X.  is."  During 
the  past  three  years  he  has  been  a  constant  borrower  of 
everything,  from  a  white  neck-tie  to  a  pair  of  boots. 
Money  I  did  lend  him,  but  gave  up  doing  so  after  our 
learned  professor  impressed  upon  my  mind  the  words 


THE   BORE.  IO7 

of  Shakespeare,  that  the  lender  loses  both  money  and 
friend. 

Number  three  asks  for  a  moment's  attention.  I  shall 
always  remember  him  with  feelings  of  indignation.  It 
was  when  I  was  just  recovering  from  a  touch  of  sick- 
ness. My  condition  seemed  to  him  to  warrant  his 
spending  all  his  time  with  me.  In  vain  did  I  feign  an 
inability  to  talk  ;  he  was  quite  willing  to  excuse  me  and 
easily  filled  up  the  blank.  He  seemed  to  fairly  revel  in 
the  knowledge  that  I  was  in  his  clutches  and  could  not 
escape.  I  am  considered  quite  polite,  and  so  did  not 
care  to  blast  my  reputation  by  entreating  him  to  leave. 
My  frantic  but  vain  efforts  to  get  rid  of  him,  and  the 
constant  high  tension  of  my  nerves  brought  on  a  re- 
lapse. I  was  compelled  to  go  home.  Some  say  that  it 
was  wholly  on  account  of  my  absence  that  I  lost  my 
Philosophical.  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,  and  lay  the  entire 
blame  upon  my  friend. 

Have  you  a  confidant  ?  Well,  he  is  number  four.  I 
don't  mean  one  of  those  men  with  whom  we  occasion- 
ally sit  down  and  have  a  pleasant  talk  over  agreeable 
reminiscences,  but  the  one  who  forces  upon  us  at  the 
most  inconvenient  times  the  history  of  himself  and  en- 
tire family,  his  adventures  and  flirtations.  I  am  not 
interested  in  him  ;  how  can  I  be  in  what  he  says  ?  His 
flirtations  sound  as  if  they  were  fashioned  to  be  told, 
and  hence  are  more  insipid  than  the  poorest  of  trashy 
stories.  I  say  yes  when  he  looks  at  me  inquiringly, 
but  hastily  change  to  no  if  his  countenance  betokens 
surprise.  When  he  reaches  the  funny  place  I  try  to 
twist  my  face  into  a  grim  smile,  but  his  own  hearty  ap- 
preciation of  the  joke  so  occupies  him  that  he  does  not 
notice  me.  I  don't  like  to  use  hard  words  about  such 
a  man,  and  so  will  resort  to  the  polite  form  of  a  French 


IO8  PEN   PORTRAITS. 

writer,  who  said,  "  It  is  one  of  the  vexatious  mortifica- 
tions of  a  studious  man  to  have  his  thoughts  disordered 
by  a  tedious  visit." 

But  here  come  two  abreast.  It  is  well  ;  they  are 
chums.  Their  room  is  directly  over  mine.  I  have 
never  been  in  it,  but  I  know  positively  that  it  contains 
two  heavy  rocking-chairs,  one  piano  and  one  guitar.  I 
am  rather  nervous,  and  when  I  first  moved  into  my 
room,  a  constant  tramp  over  my  head  nearly  distracted 
me.  A  succession  of  flunks  followed.  I  mildly  re- 
monstrated, and  was  informed  that  it  was  the  only  way 
one  of  them  could  prepare  his  recitations ;  he  had  been 
in  the  habit  of  doing  it  for  a  long  time  and  could  not 
stop  now.  After  a  while  I  grew  accustomed  to  the 
monotonous  tread,  but  ere  long  two  nice  old  Shaker 
rocking-chairs  arrived  from  home,  and  the  other  man 
varied  the  sweet  sounds  from  above  with  these  new 
instruments  of  torture. 

What !  Stopped  raining.  Yes,  there  comes  the  sun. 
It  sends  warmth  into  me  and  softens  the  crust  in  which 
I  am  enveloped.  Have  I  not  been  a  little  too  hard  on 
bores?  I  look  around  and  see  well-known  bearers  of 
this  name  occupying  places  which  can  only  be  obtained 
by  popular  men.  Here  is  X.  Every  one  knows  he  is 
an  inveterate  lounger  in  other  men's  rooms  ;  ready  to 
give  you  assistance  on  anything  ;  explain  any  point ; 
equally  ready  to  use  anything  he  sees  ;  whereas,  there 
is  V,  whom  we  all  acknowledge  is  the  more  clever  of 
the  two,  who  minds  his  own  business  and  never  bor- 
rows anything,  holding  a  position  far  inferior  to  X. 
Indeed  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  some  bores  are 
much  more  respected  than  those  who  are  really  brighter, 
but  more  reserved.  But  I  am  becoming  too  lenient 
with  my  bete  noire.  Too  much  sunshine  is  streaming  in 
and  I  must  close  the  blind. 


THE   BORE.  I0g 

I  have  seen  somewhere  the  rather  paradoxical  state- 
ment that  English  society  takes  a  placid  enjoyment  in 
being  bored.  The  rash  author  furthermore  defies  peo- 
ple to  account  on  any  other  theory  for  three-fourths  of 
the  so-called  recreations  which  are  accepted  as  at  once 
useful  and  amusing  by  the  British  nation.  I  think  the 
same  can  be  justly  asserted  by  us  in  regard  to  some  of 
our  pastimes,  notably  the  dancing  at  the  receptions 
given  by — bang — bang — "  Come  in."  Oh,  dear  !  here 
comes  the  very  man  I  have  shown  you  in  four  or  five 
phases.  Farewell,  work  !  Oh, ! 


®f)e  Sponger. 

THE  man  with  a  sponge  is  about  again.  He  always 
appears  toward  the  close  of  the  term,  when  we  com- 
mence to  review ;  and  while  other  men  depend  upon 
their  own  exertions  in  preparation  for  examination,  he 
runs  around  with  his  sponge  and  sops  up  a  little  here 
and  there,  and,  as  he  never  squeezes  it  for  another's 
benefit,  all  that  he  gets  is  clear  gain.  Such  absorptive 
fellows  as  these  spongers  are  !  and  their  sponges,  gen- 
uine "  suckers,"  drink  in  everything  from  a  Greek 
grammar  lesson  to  a  transcendental  equation.  He  is 
quite  a  "  frequent "  fellow,  too,  this  sponger  of  ours. 
He  rooms  in  your  entry;  he  rooms  in  mine;  and  you 
wouldn't  have  him  move  for  anything,  nor  would  I. 
He  has  a  quiet  way  of  calling  in  just  before  recitation, 
and  getting  posted  up  on  those  confounded  metres, 
wants  to  know  what  the  Sapphic  strope  consists  of,  and 
how  many  trochaic  dipodies  it  takes  to  flank  a  dactyl 
successfully.  Then  he  borrows  your  notes  to  look  over 
a  minute  (you  had  left  the  notes  until  the  last  minute  so 
as  to  be  fresh  on  them),  and  just  as  the  bell  begins  to 
ring  he  lays  them  down,  and  with  an  agonized  look  im- 
plores your  pardon,  "humbles  himself  before  you  as  he 
would  before  his  division  officer,"  and  swears  that  his 
carelessness  in  monopolizing  your  notes  at  a  critical 
moment  will  cause  him  to  "  sit  on  the  ragged  edge  of 
remorse"  during  the  entire  recitation.  He  frequently 
sits  beside  you  in  recitation.  When  an  example  is  given 


THE   SPONGER.  Ill 

out  to  be  worked  in  class,  he  has  unbounded  confidence 
in  your  ability  to  do  it  correctly.  He  shows  this  by 
copying  down  your  logarithms  as  fast  as  you  look  them 
out,  then  nudges  you  with  his  elbow  and  wants  to  com- 
pare answers.  You  are  almost  ashamed  of  yourself  to 
find  that  your  answer  corresponds  with  his,  and  are 
sure  that  he  suspects  you  of  copying  from  his  work. 

If  there  is  any  one  thing  which  I  am  more  sensitive 
about  than  another,  it  is  my  use  of  a  translation.  But 
the  sponger  has  no  regard  for  my  sensitiveness  on  this 
point,  and  drops  in  at  most  unseemly  hours.  He 
always  pretends  not  to  notice  the  pony  sticking  out 
from  under  the  lexicon,  which  "  half  reveals  the  deform- 
ities it  fain  would  hide,"  and  soon  goes  out  without  be- 
traying his  knowledge  of  my  weakness.  But  after  a 
time  he  comes  back  again,  apologizes  for  even  harbor- 
ing the  thought  for  a  moment,  but  really  "  You  haven't 
a  horse  on  the  Greek,  have  you?"  and  "Can  I  take  it 
up  to  my  room  a  few  minutes?"  You  have  to  go  after 
it  when  you  want  to  use  it  again.  The  sponger  is  the 
laziest  man  in  college  and  yet  works  harder  than  any  of 
us.  Why,  the  amount  of  running  around  from  room  to 
room  which  he  does  in  a  single  day,  would  wear  my 
legs  out.  He  walks  a  quarter  of  a  mile  and  runs  up  and 
down  a  dozen  flights  of  stairs  to  copy  the  demonstration 
of  a  problem,  which  he  could  work  out  himself  in  five 
minutes.  Verily,  he  rejoiceth  more  of  one  lesson 
sponged  from  another,  than  over  ninety  and  nine  lessons 
learned  by  individual  effort.  He  detests  a  man  who 
studies.  He  stands  afar  off,  and  lifts  up  his  voice  and 
"gives  thanks  that  he  is  not  as  other  men  are,  or  even 
as  this  poor  dig,"  and  then  comes  around  and  asks  if 
you  won't  drop  a  few  ideas  for  him  to  absorb.  Our 
sponger  is  a  Pharisee.  He  is  likewise  a  tyrant.  You 


112  PEN   PORTRAITS. 

yield  to  him  day  by  da.y,  and  are  angry  at  yourself  in 
vain  for  so  doing.  He  appeals  to  your  pride,  flatters 
you  a  little  if  you  post  him  up  well,  and  before  you 
know  it  you  find  yourself  looking  up  fine  points  for  his 
benefit.  He  will  get  up  a  rivalry  between  two  of  us, 
telling  each  how  clear  the  other  makes  all  his  points, 
and  you  work  the  harder  to  retain  his  patronage.  He 
is  quick  to  learn,  and  turns  everything  to  his  own 
advantage.  Your  plodding  dullard  never  sponges,  but 
one  of  the  craft  listens  almost  impatiently  to  the  words 
of  wisdom  you  are  letting  fall  for  him,  and  cries  out, 
"  Fearful  soft  lesson,  ain't  it?"  and  you  reply,  dubiously, 
"  Yes,  fearful,"  and  wonder  that  you  hadn't  noticed  it 
before. 

The  sponger  is  a  generous  fellow,  and  very  popular 
among  his  kind.  He  goes  to  the  theatre  three  times  a 
week,  and  frequently  invites  you  to  go  with  him.  He 
knows  you  never  go  to  the  theatre.  He  smokes  good 
cigars,  and  always  offers  you  one.  He  knows  you  never 
smoke.  He  oftentimes  invites  you  up  to  his  pleasant 
room.  He  knows  you  are  too  busy  to  accept.  And  he 
does  it  all  with  such  a  royal  munificence  that  you  can't 
help  admiring  him.  Your  college  sponger  differs  very 
much  from  the  sponger  of  the  world.  The  latter  is 
usually  a  mean,  parasitical  scoundrel,  who  "  dippeth 
with  you  in  the  dish,"  and  then  betrays  you  with  a  kiss. 
He  sucks  you  dry,  sells  you  out  for  "  thirty  pieces  of 
silver,"  and  forgets  to  follow  the  example  of  his  great 
ancestor,  who,  after  cutting  up  just  such  a  trick,  "went 
and  hanged  himself."  But  our  sponger  is  no  such  fel- 
low. He  is  rich,  handsome,  and  popular.  If  he  hadn't 
been  so,  we'd  have  kicked  him  out  of  doors  before  now. 
His  only  faults  are  exceeding  laziness  and  a  monstrous 
development  of  facial  territory.  And  these  are  not 


THE   SPONGER.  113 

faults  in  him,  but  graces  and  accomplishments,  that  give 
an  additional  charm  to  the  possessor,  and  "  we  love  him 
still."  So  long,  then,  as  he  leans  upon  us  for  support, 
and  draws  his  sustenance  from  us,  let  us  cherish  him 
with  tender  care.  As  you  pass  over  to  him  the  results 
of  your  hard  work,  as  you  teach  him  metres  and  look 
out  logarithms  for  him,  as  you  lend  him  text-book  after 
text-book,  and  go  to  the  Educational  Society  library  for 
more,  count  it  your  duty  and  privilege  so  to  do.  He  is 
worth  caring  for.  He  is  a  good  fellow.  But  there  may 
be  too  many  of  him. 


®lje  (Eroaker. 

ADDISON  has  said,  "  Man  is  a  creature  made  up  of 
different  extremes,  he  has  something  in  him  very  great 
and  very  mean."  I  can  find  no  one  combining  in  his 
character  meaner  traits  than  the  croaker.  His  promi- 
nent characteristic  is  an  ambition  to  make  others  un- 
happy. This  is  shown  by  a  never-ceasing  desire  to 
culminate  every  undertaking  in  a  failure.  He  is  always 
at  hand  to  put  a  damper  on  plans,  by  presenting  disa- 
greeable contingencies  ;  indeed,  for  him  to  refer  to 
pleasing  probabilities  is  an  impossibility  equal  to  mak- 
ing the  tiger  change  his  spots. 

I  sometimes  see  him  in  the  garb  of  two  other  banes 
of  society — the  dogmatist  and  the  sceptic.  His  state- 
ments are  always  made  with  emphasis  and  a  great  ap- 
pearance of  accuracy.  It  is,  in  his  own  estimation,  a 
self-evident  fact  that  things  will  turn  out  as  he  says.  If 
I  present  all  the  arguments  experience  has  taught  me 
on  some  subject,  he  will  answer  me  with  a  sceptical 
sneer,  disgusting  to  any  fair-minded  man.  He  is  a 
veritable  Jerry  Cruncher.  That  eccentric  individual 
was  ever  predicting  ruin  for  himself  and  family.  He 
was  quite  certain  that  the  bread  and  butter  was  being 
prayed  off  his  table,  good  luck  thrust  ruthlessly  from 
his  doors,  all  through  the  continual  "  flopping  "  of  the 
good  Mrs.  C.  He  couldn't  understand  the  "  whys  and 
wherefores,"  and  so  it  must  be  wrong. 

They  are  the  "  I  told  you  so  "  men.     No  matter  what 


THK    CROAKER.  115 

may  have  happened  they  are  at  our  elbows  with  their  in- 
fernal cry.  If  in  one  case  out  of  ten  (I  draw  it  mild) 
there  was  the  slightest  semblance  to  truth  in  what  they 
said,  we  could  endure  them  ;  but  there  is  never  the 
least  trace.  They  remind  me  of  a  little  boy  I  saw  at  the 
race  last  summer.  He  was  wearing  crimson.  I  asked 
what  he  would  do  in  case  Yale  won.  "  Oh  !  I  have  lots 
of  blue  in  my  pocket  and  will  change  'em  then."  So 
with  this  group  of  croakers  ;  they  are  bound  to  have 
their  say,  be  the  termination  successful  or  adverse.  I 
am  inclined  to  think  that  rather  than  have  such  a  nuis- 
ance about,  I  would  prefer  to  pass  the  life  of  Tantalus, 
with  five  hundred  South  American  Cormorants  always 
plucking  at  my  liver.  Indeed,  I  can't  imagine  any 
picture  of  Hades  as  complete  without  seeing  there  some 
poor  sinner  doomed  to  be  forever  followed  by  one  of 
these  creatures. 

Croakers  are  the  men  who  are  eternally  hesitating  from 
some  imaginary  evil.  They  will  whip  a  horse  if  he 
starts  at  the  sound  of  a  steam-whistle,  but  never  think 
that  most  of  their  own  fears  are  really  fanciful.  I  see 
every  day  some  specimen  of  this  class.  He  wanders 
around  the  campus,  picking  up  morsels,  and  then  drops 
into  my  room.  I  am  forced  to  listen  to  the  recital  of  a 
long  list  of  disheartening  rumors  about  the  crew  or  the 
nine,  and  the  gloomy  prediction  he  always  finishes  with. 
It  is  well  enough  to  pay  a  due  regard  to  sensible  remarks 
and  be  prepared  for  "  breakers  ahead."  Their  advice 
is  always  of  the  flimsiest  kind.  Their  hypotheses  are 
about  as  probable,  their  logic  not  nearly  so  good,  as 
what  we  see  in  the  query  of  the  venerable  dame, 

"  If  all  the  world  were  water, 
And  all  the  water  were  ink. 
What  should  we  do  for  bread  and  cheese  ? 
What  should  we  do  for  drink  ?" 


Il6  PEN   PORTRAITS. 

Again,  there  are  those  whom  our  Medics  would  say 
were  troubled  with  melancholia.  They  ever  look  upon 
life  as  through  a  glass,  darkly.  Dickens  furnishes 
us  an  excellent  example  in  Mrs.  Grummidge.  Like 
her,  they  have  no  reason  to  be  miserable.  He  has  ad- 
mirably portrayed  this  class  when  he  places  her  in  the 
warm  corner,  gives  to  her  the  most  comfortable  chair  in 
the  room,  and  then  makes  her  complain.  Her  benefac- 
tor, Mr.  Peggotty,  must  continually  hear  her  lament,  "A 
lone,  lorn  creetur  and  everything  goes  contrairy." 


She  €l)um. 

You  who  have  observed  married  life  and  bachelor 
existence  can  tell  the  truth,  that  man  is  happier  when 
alone.  How,  then,  can  man  hope  to  live  with  man,  if  he 
cannot  live  with  woman?  You  who  have  both  had 
chums  and  lived  alone,  can  appreciate  the  meaning  of 
these  remarks.  Chums  are  not  what  they  seem  to  be. 
They  appear  all  friendship,  but  they  are  generally  dis- 
contented and  unhappy  with  one  another.  It  seems  a 
beautiful  picture,  two  young  men  living  together  in  a 
union  so  close.  But  marriages  seem  like  Utopian  bliss, 
and  yet  divorces  are  not  infrequent.  And  so  with  col- 
lege chums  ;  they  are  tolerable  fellows,  and  yet  they 
separate  at  the  end  of  the  year.  Why  ?  Because  you 
had  an  ideal  chum.  He  was  a  man  of  gentle  disposi- 
tion. You  thought,  he  will  fetch  water  for  me,  buy 
me  tobacco,  and  make  the  fires  for  me.  He  will  study 
as  hard  as  I  do,  but  no  harder.  He  will  sing  when  I  do, 
but  at  no  other  times.  He  will  be  grave  when  I  am 
grave,  and  will  rejoice  and  be  merry  when  I  rejoice  and 
am  merry.  You  thought,  we  will  be  like 

"  The  two  little -brothers  of  Ongar, 
Who,  wishing  to  grow  wiser  and  stronger, 
Each  morn  left  their  bed 
Quite  early,  and  read  ; 
Then  walked  in  the  fresh  air  of  Ongar." 

In  other  words,  you  thought  that  with  such  a  man  for 
a  chum  you  would  descend  the  path  of  college  life  con- 


Il8  PEN   PORTRAITS. 

tented.  And  so  you  would,  if  such  a  docile,  obedient 
good-natured  man  could  be  found.  But,  my  dear  sir, 
the  man  you  chose  as  most  nearly  reaching  your  ideal, 
selected  you  for  the  very  same  reason,  then  came  a 
clash,  quarrels,  insults  ;  you  vowed  you  would  do  with 
your  half  of  the  room  as  you  pleased,  and  asked  such 
an  absurd  question  as,  "  I'd  like  to  know  who  pays  for 
half  this  room?"  And  as  there  are  no  possible  answers 
to  such  questions,  you  left  the  room,  unable  to  give  any 
more  of  these  pleasant  little  home-thrusts. 

Now,  this  description  is  a  real  one,  while  the  life  of 
the  Ongars  is  ideal.  First,  a  chum  is  bound  to  rebel 
when  you  try  to  shift  some  little'  disagreeable  job  on 
him.  It  is  of  a  matter  of  importance  who  wins  this 
first  battle.  For  the  man  who  is  conqueror  has  com- 
mand in  the  room  that  day  forth. 

Now,  no  matter  whether  you  are  the  conquered  or  the 
conqueror,  you  may  be  able  to  live  with  your  chum. 
That  is,  you  can  tolerate  him,  endure  him.  For  at  times 
you  like  him  and  again  you  dislike  him.  In  the 
morning,  you  think  you  can  laugh  over  his  conduct  of 
last  night  when  he  threw  himself  in  a  maudlin  condi- 
tion on  your  bed,  and  vowed  he  would  kiss  his  old 
chum  good  night,  and  then  proposed  emptying  the  ket- 
tles of  water  over  you.  In  the  morning  you  laugh.  It 
seems  such  a  capital  joke.  Oh,  yes,  you  laugh  heartily. 
'Tis  true  he  kept  you  awake  with  his  noisy  companions, 
then  in  the  morning  you  laugh.  Q,  such  splendid  fun  ! 
You  say  he  only  comes  in  that  way  once  a  week  ?  Good 
gracious,  I  would  like  your  chum  to  be  my  chum.  He 
must  make  you  laugh  so. 

But  when  your  chum  has  the  "  blues  "  and  sits  oppo- 
site you  in  his-easy  chair  for  days,  then  is  the  time  for 
true  mutual  fondness  to  show  itself.  Ask  him  a  ques- 


THE  CHUM.  Ilg 

tion,  he  answers  you  in  such  a  gentlemanly  tone.  Sug- 
gest that  it  is  his  turn  to  buy  tobacco  and  he  will  do  so, 
of  course.  It  is  so  pleasant  to  have  this  dumb  figure  in 
your  room,  never  moving,  but  continually  looking 
severe,  putting  a  check  on  all  smiles,  all  attempts  at 
gayety.  There  are  but  few  chums,  one  or  the  other  of 
whom  has  not  had  an  attack  of  melancholia.  Its  fatal 
presence  has  been  imposed  on  many  a  good-natured 
fellow.  If  the  chum  would  only  go  into  his  bedroom 
and  lock  himself  there,  and  commit  suicide,  it  wouldn't 
be  such  a  bad  thing  after  all. 

Now  such  chums  as  these  are  we  ourselves.  There 
is  no  exaggerated  disparity  between  two  chums,  gener- 
ally. They  do  not  hate  one  another,  nor  have  they  over- 
much respect  for  each  other.  Ask  a  man  how  he  likes 
his  chum.  Does  he  not  raise  his  eyebrows,  shrug  his 
shoulders,  look  on  the  ground  as  he  says,  with  an  evi- 
dent desire  to  change  the  subject,  "  Pretty  well."  If 
instead  he  went  off  into  glowing  admiration,  I  would 
suspect  that  man  of  hypocrisy.  Now  the  man  who  says 
"  pretty  well,"  tells  the  truth.  His  answer  most  college 
men  would  give.  For  I  believe  this  to  be  the  universal 
experience,  and  to  imply  no  exaggeration.  It  is  not  the 
absence  of  virtues  but  the  presence  of  faults  in  his  char- 
acter that  you  dislike.  There  is  a  great  need  of  charity 
among  us,  for  selfishness  occupies  too  much  room. 

The  proof  of  the  truthfulness  of  this  description  is 
conclusive.  A  man  seldom  rooms  with  his  best  friend. 
This  is  not  so  because  one  has  objections  to  living  with 
the  man  he  likes  most,  but  rather  because  that  person 
whom  he  once  liked  before  others,  has  lost  his  charm, 
since  he  has  come  to  live  with  him.  There  is  a  great 
deal  of  force  in  the  old  saying,  "  Familiarity  breeds 
contempt,"  and  it  offers  a  most  complete  explanation 


120  PEN    PORTRAITS. 

of  the  differences  which  occur  in  chum  life.  For  in 
those  cases  where  two  men  have  lived  together  as  great 
friends,  you  may  observe  the  absence  of  affected  jocos- 
ity toward  one  another.  And  you  may  notice  in  its 
stead  a  certain  formality,  a  gentlemanly  decorum.  A 
respect  for  his  character  and  talents  is  what  makes  a 
man  call  his  chum  his  best  friend. 

And,  now  ye  few  who  have  pleasant  chums,  respect 
them,  if  you  hope  to  keep  them  as  your  own  best 
friends.  But  ye  large  crowds,  to  whom  chums  have 
hitherto  been  a  source  of  sorrow,  and  ye  who  have 
made  life  miserable  to  your  chums,  do  ye  rise,  rise, 
strike  hands  and  vow  hereafter  more  charity  and  less 
selfishness.  Then  will  chums  become  true  friends  ; 
then  will  life  be  more  endurable,  and  we  will  feel  less 
like  crying  out  "  '  vanitas  vanitatum  ! '  Which  of  us  is 
happy  in  this  world?  Which  of  us  has  his  desire?  or 
having  it  is  satisfied  ?" 


Successful  C 


THIS  subject  presented  itself  neither  as  material  for 
an  original  comedy,  nor  as  the  basis  for  an  extraordinary 
attempt  at  a  refreshingly  easy  prose  article,  but  as  a  topic 
of  vital  interest  and  most  intimately  connected  with  the 
daily  life  of  the  majority  of  those  of  us  who  avoid  Yale 
Commons.  The  term  successful  is  to  be  obviously  ap- 
plied not  to  the  degree  of  satisfaction  felt  by  her  board- 
ers, nor  yet  to  her  general  popularity.  The  successful 
boarding-house  matron  must  retain  her  boarders.  She 
must  make  money  by  contracting  the  bill-of-fare.  She 
is  no  inflationist,  unless  it  be  in  her  conversational  pow- 
ers. The  problem  stretched  out  before  her  practical 
mind  is  to  find  this  line  of  demarcation,  this  dew-point 
between  the  demands  of  economy  and  the  good-nature 
of  her  patrons,  or,  simply,  to  keep  them  at  the  slightest 
possible  expenditure.  I  have  known  honest  landladies  ; 
I  never  knew  one  who  questioned  her  own  honesty  ;  but 
surely  it  is  a  question  of  degree  with  many  and  that 
degree  depends  upon  the  meekness  and  the  simplicity 
of  the  boarders.  Her  eyes  will  beam  complacently  over 
a  group  of  white-faced  Freshmen  seated  around  her 
pine  boards,  and  if  sufficiently  fresh,  she  reduces  the 
viands  to  a  mathematical  nicety  and  extracts  the  where- 
withal from  their  purse  with  pious  resignation.  She 
mentally  deplores  her  own  poverty  which  necessitates 
such  diligent  robbing  of  the  innocents,  and  succeeds  in 


122  PEN   PORTRAITS. 

forgetting  that  couplet  so  affectingly  rendered  by  "  The 
Beauty  of  the  Blondes  :" — 

"  He  who  takes  what  isn't  his'n, 
Will  one  of  these  days  be  cast  in  pris'n." 

The  successful  landlady  has  a  power  sui  generis.  In 
the  first  place,  she  is  of  the  tender  sex.  What  bitter 
irony  lies  within  those  words.  About  as  tender  as  her 
poultry,  truly.  Armed  with  the  skirts,  her  familiarity 
must  be  endured,  her  facetiousness  stomached  and  her 
bills  paid  according  to  a  foolish  code  of  honor  and  gal- 
lantry. Thus  our  handsome  heroine,  conscious  of  her 
feminine  dignity,  sails  into  the  room  full  of  bread-and- 
molasses-eaters  and  exclaims,  "Well,  gentlemen,  every- 
thing is  agreeable,  I  hope.  Is  the  molasses  good  ?"  She 
accompanies  her  interrogation  with  a  smile  and  nod 
that  command  a  sullen  assent.  Home-training  still 
makes  itself  slightly  felt,  and  Edward  though  ready 
enough  to  fire  a  potato-skin  at  the  engraving  of  General 
Putnam  on  the  other  side  of  the  room,  hesitates  to 
abuse  the  supper  to  the  proprietress'  face. 

Edward,  you  err !  Listen  to  me,  who  like  yourself 
entered  college  mild,  harmless  and  fresh.  A  stranger 
was  I  and  she  took  me  in.  One  memorable  day  I 
lingered^  over  the  burnt,  black  bread-pudding  with 
wicked  thoughts  in  my  heart.  It  seemed  to  be  the 
hour  of  emancipation,  and  I  mumbled  aloud  mourn- 
fully, then  savagely,  imagining  myself  alone.  She 
heard  it.  As  she  entered  the  room  I  can  recollect  how 
she  looked — her  figure  erect,  her  eyes  glittering  devil- 
ishly and  her  lips  compressed.  "Mr.  Y ,"  it 

came,  "did  I  hear  you  complaining  of  the  pudding? 
Is  there  any  fault  to  be  found  with  the  board  ?  Speak 
it  out  right  in  my  presence,  but  don't  you  dare  to 


THE   SUCCESSFUL  LANDLADY.  12$ 

grumble  behind  my  back."  In  reply  to  her  inquiries 
my  lips  formed  "  Y-e-s,"  but  manliness  failed  me.  I 
was  bluffed.  I  stammered  "No,  O  Lord,  NO!"  and 
the  day  was  lost. 

Edward,  to  "  bless  them  that  persecute  you,"  is  with- 
out doubt  the  proper  thing,  and  peculiar  advantages  are 
afforded  at  some  boarding-houses  for  the  exercise  of 
this  virtue.  A  more  thorough  drill  in  the  persecution 
line  and  a  higher  order  of  temptations  to  retaliate  are 
not  to  be  found  in  the  State,  but  I  sincerely  doubt  if 
that  joyous  beatitude  can  ever  be  applicable  to  life  in  a 
New  Haven  boarding-house.  As  you  value  health  and 
happiness,  Edward,  cultivate  cheek  with  discretion. 
Only  bring  this  type  of  landlady  to  bay,  and  she  is 
yours,  and  once  having  gained  a  dignified  victory,  op- 
pression will  be  comparatively  unknown. 

I  next  would  treat  briefly  of  the  emotional  land- 
lady, a  much  more  difficult  creature  to  manage.  At  the 
sound  of  distant  murmurs,  she  floats  languidly  in,  head 
at  one  side,  silent  reproach  in  her  manners  and  general 
appearance,  abject.  "  Good  evening,  all.  I  am  quite 
glad  to  provide  everything  for  you  within  my  limited 
means,  but  believe  me,  I  am  losing  a  dollar  a  week 
upon  every  one  of  you  and  really  cannot  keep  the 
New  Haven  House  at  these  prices."  We  all  feel  con- 
vinced of  her  inaccuracy,  but  are  reluctant  to  make  the 
personal  application.  The  result  is  a  few  blank  stares 
and  the  silence  is  broken  again  by  "  Good  evening,  all," 
as  she  backs  gracefully  out.  Edward,  pay  your  bill 
that  night  and  seek  another  boarding-house.  That 
woman  is  more  to  be  dreaded  than  the  other,  for  you 
cannot  approach  her.  She  closes  every  avenue  of  at- 
tack and  leaves  retreat  alone  possible. 

The  treatment  of  the  successful  landlady  must,  then, 


124  PEN   PORTRAITS. 

be  regulated  to  suit  the  particular  case.  In  the  one  in- 
stance courage  suffices  to  obtain  the  proper  result — in 
the  other  I  suggest  retreat.  As  a  class  they  are  about 
as  pleasant  beings  to  deal  with  as  the  average  army- 
worm. 


MANNERS    AND    CUSTOMS. 


Singing. 

"  The  man  that  hath  no  music  in  himself, 
Nor  is  not  moved  with  concord  of  sweet  sounds, 
Is  fit  for  treasons,  strategems,  and  spoils." 

Merchant  of  Venice,  Act  v,  See.  i. 

THE  Hindoos  regard  the  arts  in  general  as  direct 
revelations  from  heaven,  but  music,  say  they,  the  grand- 
est and  best  art,  is  communicated  to  mortals  by  Brahma 
himself.  It  may  be  that  our  Christian  readers  do  not 
fully  sympathize  with  such  expressions  of  gratitude  for 
the  divine  gift  of  song.  A  few  of  them,  possibly,  find 
that  midnight  serenades  ill  accord  either  with  investiga- 
tion into  the  "harmony  of  the  spheres,"  or  with  noctur- 
nal refreshment.  Many  of  them,  doubtless,  the  so-called 
aristocrats,  are  located  too  near  the  much  frequented 
Calliope,  whose  dismal  sounds,  issuing  at  stated  inter- 
vals, smite  rudely  upon  the  ears  of  the  sensitive,  dis- 
turb quiet  meditation,  and  produce  distraction  in  the 
brain  of  the  laborious  student.  As  for  myself,  among 
the  many  advantages  of  old  South,  I  am  happily  unable 
to  appreciate  in  the  least  these  discordant  inflictions 
upon  my  proud  brethren.  And  it  is  very  far  from  my 
purpose  in  the  present  article  to  venture  an  opinion  upon 
the  manner  in  which  they,  or  our  patient  instructors,  or 
the  uncomplaining  fellow-townsmen  might  describe  the 
art  of  music  as  practiced  by  the  great  body  of  under- 
graduates. , 

College  singing  occupies  a  much  more  prominent 
5 


130  MANNERS   AND   CUSTOMS. 

place  in  the  daily  life  at  Yale  than  one  might  infer  from 
a  perusal  of  the  college  catalogue,  or  an  examination  of 
the  prescribed  text-books.  Indeed,  to  such  an  extent  is 
this  true,  that  from  the  earliest  attempts  of  Freshman 
year  within  the  secret  walls  of  Delta  Kappa,  to  the  sad 
Parting  Hymn  of  Commencement  week,  it  is  hardly 
possible,  in  term  time,  to  escape,  for  many  consecutive 
hours,  the  echo  of  some  college  song.  Every  place  in 
doors  or  out,  within  the  limits  of  Hamilton  Park  and  the 
depot,  every  hour  by  day  or  by  night,  is  liable  to  be  con- 
secrated to  this  muse  Terpsichore.  Then,  too,  the  singers 
are  as  various  as  the  opportunities.  Does  any  one  im- 
agine that  they  are  selected  from  a  particular  stamp  of 
men,  or  can  be  distinguished  by  certain  general  charac- 
teristics? It  is  a  great  mistake.  The  marking-books  of 
the  Faculty  indicate  nothing  as  to  the  relative  merit  in 
this  department.  The  accurate  scholar  may  or  may  not 
be  a  successful  candidate  for  the  Glee  Club.  The  voice 
of  the  athlete  is  by  no  means  uniformly  most  powerful. 
The  company  of  the  popular  man  is  not  always  courted 
by  his  fellow  musicians,  nor  is  the  loafer  the  only  one 
who  finds  time  for  this  occupation  not  included  in  the 
curriculum.  In  fact,  every  class  furnishes  a  share,  and 
every  individual  who  can  appreciate  a  difference  be- 
tween "Bingo"  and  "Old  Hundred,"  expects  to  take 
an  active  part.  So  general  is  participation  and  so  ex- 
pressive is  spontaneous  music  of  the  moods  and  feelings, 
that  we  may  regard  college  singers  as  a  pretty  reliable 
barometer  of  the  prevailing  sentiment.  Think  a  moment 
how  frequently  this  emotional  language  is  employed. 
How  often  in  the  business-meetings  held  in  the  Presi- 
dent's lecture-room,  are  pauses  in  the  regular  proceed- 
ings filled  up,  to  the  relief  of  all,  with  familiar  songs  ! 
On  the  march  to  Alumni  Hall  in  tortuous  file,  "With 


SINGING.  131 

many  a  winding  bout,  of  little  learning  long  drawn  out," 
with  what  heart-rending  tones  do  we  assure  the  fac- 
ulty that  "  Examinations  are  a  bore  " — tones  equalled  in 
earnestness  only  by  the  triumphant  carols,  with  which 
news  of  a  boating  or  ball  victory  is  received  by  patriotic 
collegians  !  In  certain  cases,  and  that  too  without  much 
provocation,  the  cars  even  may  be  the  scene  of  many  a 
boisterous  chorus.  The  medical  course  could  not  be 
initiated  without  strains  of  "  Saw  my  leg  off  short,"  and 
Pres.  Grant  and  his  suit,  at  their  visit  to  our  college, 
must  tread  the  classic  soil  to  the  tune  of  "  Rig-a-jig-jig." 
There  is  one  spot,  however,  both  familiar  and  inter- 
esting, which  I  now  approach  with  feelings  of  modest 
and  respectful  hesitation.  Like  the  jackknffe  in  the 
story,  renewed  in  the  course  of  every  year  in  every  part, 
but  like  the  changing  body  of  man,  always  preserving 
its  identity,  I  feel  justified  in  calling  this  spot  the  old 
college  fence — ancient,  mutilated,  and  dilapidated,  but 
rich  in  tender  associations.  I  do  not  refer,  of  course, 
to  the  entire  railing  which  surrounds  the  campus,  but  to 
the  venerable  and  traditional  corner,  having  the  big 
trees  in  the  rear,  and  flanked  on  either  side  by  South 
College  and  the  Green  ;  in  front,  Chapel  street  and  the 
noonday  sun,  and  just  opposite,  Hoadley's  and  the  New 
Haven  House  ;  the  portion,  in  short,  which  has  been 
recognized  from  all  time  as  the  rendezvous  of  the  three 
upper  classes  in  their  idler  moments  ;  with  its  comfort- 
able curved  bars  devoted  to  the  trespassings  of  the  pen- 
knife, and  its  class  sections  carefully  drawn  and  rigor- 
ously observed  by  common  consent.  O  Carolina  /  0 
Mttsce !  where  shall  I  find  words  to  describe  the  mus- 
ical scenes  in  which  it  has  silently  figured  ?  What 
antiquated  sage  can  measure  the  burden  of  song,  from 
the  flighty  warble  to  the  plaintive  tones  of  "  Teacher, 


132  MANNERS   AND   CUSTOMS. 

Teacher,"  which  it  has  sustained — songs  subdued  and 
pathetic;  songs  promiscuous  and  uproarious?  Many 
associations  cluster  round  the  college  fence,  of  conver- 
sations and  discussions,  of  stories  and  jokes,  of  LIT. 
readings  and  cigars  ;  but  none,  perhaps,  will  be  more 
lasting  or  more  delightful  to  many  concerned  than  rec- 
collections  of  impromptu  musicals  in  the  moonlight 
evenings,  when  we  chanted  "  Stars  of  the  summer 
night "  to  the  deserted  thoroughfare,  and  when  the 
strains,  softened  and  sweetened  by  the  open  air,  the 
rustling  branches  and  chirping  insects,  seemed  to  be 
wafted  far  away  into  the  shadows  through  the  green 
corridor  of  elms.  At  such  times,  perhaps  even  the 
least  sentimental,  if  favored  with  congenial  companions, 
and  blessed  with  a  musical  voice  and  a  sensitive  soul, 
has  found  the  discords  and  vexations  of  the  day  gradu- 
ally supplemented  by  a  quiet  complacency,  a  sort  of 
peaceful  satisfaction  with  life  in  general,  a  closer  inti- 
macy with  his  associates,  a  deeper  attachment  for  col- 
lege, and  an  impulse  toward  sturdier  and  more  hopeful 
effort  in  the  future.  It  may  be  that  he  has  been  filled 
with  those  "noble  hints"  and  "great  conceptions"  of 
which  Addison  speaks  in  the  Spectator ;  and  not  impos- 
sibly has  gained  a  better  appreciation  of  that  law  of  har- 
mony which  is  exemplified  by  Nature  both  in  her  minu- 
test and  most  stupendous  phenomena,  and  which  ought 
always  to  be  the  regulating  principle  in  human  con- 
duct. 

It  is  curious  to  see  what  confusion  is  produced  in  the 
camp  of  student  songsters  by  the  appearance  of  any  un- 
congenial element,  in  the  shape  of  an  unconsciously 
obtrusive  individual — generally  the  possessor  of  a  mer- 
ciless tuning-fork — or,  worse  yet,  by  the  introduction 
into  the  ranks,  of  an  habitual  grumbler.  How  speedily 


SINGINC.  133 

tlie  fountains  of  song  are  dried  up,  and  how  completely, 
it  would  gratify  many  an  indignant  soul  to  bear  witness. 
I  myself  am  prompted  by  feelings,  which  it  might  seem 
must  long  ago  have  been  stifled,  to  compare  certain 
Sunday  evening  gatherings  of  an  agreeable  character, 
held  at  the  Freshman  headquarters,  on  York  street,  in 
times  gone  by,  with  certain  other  gatherings  that  I 
know  about,  assembled  for  a  similar  purpose,  in  which 
suggestions  and  criticisms  were  as  numerous  as  the  in- 
dividuals, and  the  tuning-fork  was  in  frequent  requisi- 
tion. Is  it  necessary  to  say  that  the  comparison  would 
be  quite  unfavorable  to  the  latter? 

I  infer,  then,  that  singing,  when  it  comes  sponta- 
neously from  the  heart  and  is  melodiously  expressed, 
does  much  to  cultivate  the  heart,  to  banish  misanthropy, 
to  stir  the  imagination, — which  among  scholars,  to  say 
the  least,  sometimes  grows  a  little  dull, — and  to  furnish 
fuel,  so  to  speak,  for  more  laborious  exertions.  These 
sentiments  are  not  the  product  of  mere  fancy,  nor  of 
morbid  sentimentality.  They  agree  not  only  with  the 
observed  effects  of  compositions  by  the  great  masters, 
out  also  with  the  history  of  national  ballads,  from  the 
rhapsodies  of  the  old  Ionian  bards  to  the  popular  glees 
of  the  present  times  ;  and,  in  fact,  with  the  influence  of 
harmonious  sounds  everywhere.  You  have  noticed  how 
the  boy  whistles  in  the  dark  to  keep  up  his  courage. 
The  housewife,  you  know,  is  apt  to  lighten  her  toil 
with  a  merry  ditty.  The  soldier  is  dependent  upon  the 
martial  music  of  drum  and  fife  to  brace  his  nerves  for 
action  ;  and  it  is  said  that  when  the  men  in  camp  are  look- 
ing discouraged  and  despondent  the  transforming  power 
of  a  spirited  air  is  almost  incredible.  Perhaps,  in  the 
same  way,  among  students,  thrown  together  very  much, 
as  they  are,  and  entertaining  many  emotions  in  common, 


134  MANNERS    AND    CUSTOMS. 

the  effects  of  self-made  music,  under  favorable  circum- 
stances, may  be  just  as  striking  ;  and  though  I  cannot, 
even  after  Junior  lectures,  explain  the  philosophical 
connection  between  regular  tidal  waves  in  the  atmos- 
phere, and  sensations  and  impulses  in  the  heart,  never- 
theless the  fact,  which  the  truthful  "  poet  of  the  domestic 
affections  "  delicately  expresses,  cannot  be  questioned  : 

"  There  is  in  souls  a  sympathy  with  sounds  ; 
And  as  the  mind  is  pitched,  the  ear  is  pleased 
With  melting  airs,  or  martial,  brisk,  or  grave  ; 
Some  chord  in  unison  with  what  we  hear 
Is  touched  within  us,  and  the  heart  replies." 

But  in  consequence  of  the  exciting  nature  of  the  topic, 
I  had  quite  forgotten  my  subject  proper,  namely,  the 
prominence  of  singing  in  our  life  at  Yale  ;  and  have 
wandered  very  far  from  the  immediate  object  of  my  de- 
scription, the  college  fence  ;  so  far,  in  good  sooth,  that 
I  will  not  attempt  to  return.  In  my  digression,  how- 
ever, I  have  had  the  company  of  the  Freshmen  ;  for 
they,  you  know,  are  debarred  the  privileges  of  that 
favored  resort  and  may  not  taste  its  musical  joys.  A 
few  of  this  class  may  be  seen  gathering  mysteriously,  at 
midnight,  under  the  closed  shutters  of  Grove  Hall,  with 
intent  to  rouse  the  fair  inmates  of  that  cloister  with 
"  Nut  brown  maiden  "  and  "  Sweet  dreams,  ladies,"  and 
satisfied  with  the  most  modest  sign  of  recognition  from 
beyond  the  barriers.  Then  having  themselves  retired  to 
their  "  little  beds  "  in  an  exhausted  state,  we  may  im- 
agine them  breathing  vociferously  in  slumber,  and 
keeping  time,  as  far  as  possible,  with  the  mournful 
measure  of  "  Home,  sweet  home,"  discoursed  upon  a 
cracked  violin  by  some  solitary  fanatic  in  the  adjoining 
room. 

Verily  it  doth  appear,  after  my  survey,  that  students, 


SINGING.  135 

if  only  assembled  in  sufficient  numbers,  would  boldly 
start  up  "  The  Pope,  he  leads  a  merry  life,"  within  the 
very  pale  of  the  Vatican,  nay,  under  the  awe-inspiring 
dome  of  St.  Peter's  itself.  While,  if  no  "  peelers  "  were 
in  sight,  we  may  safely  conjecture  that  the  "  Dearest 
maiden  "  would  be  summoned  to  the  "  Waltz  "  before  the 
very  monument  of  Newton  himself,  whose  ashes  repose 
quietly  beneath  his  statue  in  an  ancient  chapel  of  West- 
minister Abbey. 


Sowing. 

I  DON'T  mean  the  bow  from  that  pretty  girl,  on  her 
way  home  from  Miss  Nott's,  to  obtain  which  I  always 
walk  a  block  out  of  the  way  to  my  eating-club.  My 
emotions  on  that  occasion  are  too  sacred  to  be  inserted 
among  trivial  articles  on  the  manners  and  customs  of 
the  Yale  students.  It  is  rather  to  the  greetings  within 
the  microcosm  we  inhabit,  than  to  their  counterparts 
in  the  outer  world,  that  I  wish  to  call  attention. 

What  a  wonderful  difference  it  does  make  in  what 
class  a  man  is,  as  regards  the  way  you  salute  him.  Here, 
now,  as  I  am  walking  across  the  campus,  wondering 
how  I  can  ever  fill  the  required  number  of  pages,  comes 
a  Senior.  We  wait  till  we  are  at  the  regulation  distance. 
Then  he,  by  right  of  superiority,  gives  the  signal  by 
moving  his  chin  through  an  angel  of  three  degrees,  to 
which  I  respond  by  an  inclination  five  degrees  lower  ; 
while  "  Good  morning,  Mr.  Stylites,"  "  Good  morning, 
Mr.  Pomposus,"  is  exchanged  between  us.  A  short 
distance  farther  on,  I  meet  a  Sophomore,  and  the  same 
ceremony  is  reenacted,  except  that  I,  in  my  turn,  give 
the  command.  Each  time,  however,  the  facial  muscles 
of  both  parties  remain  perfectly  rigid  ;  although  I  con- 
fess that  on  looking  back,  I  have  not  infrequently  dis- 
covered some  of  those  impudent  under-class  men  grin- 
ning at  my  ceremonious  salutation. 

It  does  seem  rather  ridiculous,  sometimes.  Here  is 
this  man,  superior  to  me  in  height,  certainly,  in  brains 


BOWING.  137 

probably,  and  at  all  events,  in  the  Harvard  criterion,  good 
clothes  ;  yet  I  patronize  him,  and  he  submits  to  it,  for 
no  other  earthly  reason  than  because  I  happened  to 
enter  college  a  year  before  he  did.  The  meekness  of  a 
Freshman  before  a  diminutive  Sophomore  can  be  easily 
explained  by  the  fact  that  in  the  person  of  the  man  be- 
fore him  he  dreads  the  power  of  his  whole  class,  while 
he  knows  that  his  own  is  as  yet  incapable  of  united 
action.  But  why  this  authority  should  exist  over  him 
unchallenged  during  his  whole  course,  is  to  me  a  mys- 
tery. 

A  singular  illustration  of  this  distinction  between  the 
classes,  may  be  found  on  the  ground  floor  of  the  north 
entry  of  North  Middle,  where  my  humble  apartment  is 
situated.  It  so  happens  that  there  are  representatives 
from  all  the  classes  there.  We  are  constantly  meeting, 
exchanging  letters,  parcels,  etc.,  which  have  been 
wrongly  delivered,  and  one  would  naturally  suppose 
that  four  young  men  of  about  the  same  age,  living  in 
such  close  proximity,  would  see  something  of  each 
other,  form  a  defensive  alliance  against  the  Faculty  and 
bores,  and  establish  a  communism  of  text-books,  and 
that  drug  to  minister  to  a  mind  diseased,  Lone  Jack. 
Far  from  it.  We  seem  utterly  to  ignore  each  other's 
existence.  The  Senior  cuts  me  ;  I,  the  Sophomore  ;  he, 
in  his  turn,  the  Freshman.  How  the  latter  avenges 
himself,  except  by  snubbing  the  Troy  Laundry  boy  (in 
which,  if  he  is  successful,  he  deserves  the  thanks  of  the 
entire  community),  is  to  me  a  problem. 

"So,  naturalists  observe  a  flea 
Has  other  fleas  that  on  him  prey  ; 
And  these  have  smaller  still  to  bite  'em, 
And  so  proceed,  ad  infinituni." 

It    is    not   exactly    snobbishness.     It    is    merely    the 


138  MANNERS   AND   CUSTOMS. 

effects  of  the  wall  of  ice  which  separates  the  classes. 
I  never  knew  but  one  man  who  was  able  to  surmount 
the  obstacle.  But  then  he  was  Pilarious,  whose  sunny 
disposition  melts  all  stiffness.  No  one  ever  saw  any 
coolness  about  him  except  when  the  rest  of  the  nine 
were  flurried,  and  his  absence  was  considered  by  all 
classes  alike  the  only  drawback  to  the  otherwise  unex- 
ceptionable "  Promenade."  It  is  true  that  Bucca  waives 
all  ceremony  and  calls  us  by  our  pet  names  before  he 
has  been  introduced  to  us.  But,  for  some  reason  or 
other,  his  efforts  do  not  seem  to  be  very  successful. 

It  is  singular  how  a  man,  whom,  were  he  in  another 
college  and  you  met  him  for  a  week  during  the  vaca- 
tion, you  would  probably  consider  yourself  quite  inti- 
mate with,  and  call  by  his  first  name,  during  a  three 
years'  acquaintance  with  you  at  Yale,  where  formality 
is  popularly  supposed  to  be  laid  aside,  always  calls  you 
"  Mister."  «If  you  meet  a  member  of  another  class  out- 
side of  New  Haven,  in  a  railroad  train,  for  instance,  I 
know  nothing  more  interesting  than  to  shake  hands 
across  the  bloody  chasm  and  join  with  him  in  picking 
to  pieces  the  characters  of  your  respective  classmates  ; 
but  within  the  college  walls  you  have  nothing  more  in 
common.  One  remarkable  instance  of  this  armed 
neutrality  existing  between  the  classes  was  brought  out 
last  term  by  the  elective  system  ;  when  it  was  singular 
to  observe  members  from  two  classes  reciting  together 
in  history,  how  they  instinctively  divided  into  two  hos- 
tile camps,  whence  the}7  mutually  glared  defiance  at 
each  other. 

"  Quot  homines,  toi  satiifationcs,"  Cicero  said,  or  at  any 
rate  ought  to  have  said,  even  if  he  did  not.  There  is 
the  popular  man,  who  has  a  smile  for  every  one,  be- 
cause he  is  brimful  of  good  nature,  and  the  would-be 


BOWING.  139 

popular  man,  who  does  the  same  thing  from  motives  of 
interest.  It  is  not  very  difficult  to  distinguish  gentry 
of  this  latter  sort,  even  if  they  are  all  smiles.  Then 
there  is  my  friend,  Jack  Vane.  There  is  no  privilege 
which  I  enjoy  more  than  a  walk  down  Chapel  street 
with  him.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  an  unfailing  sign  that 
I  am  high  in  popular  esteem,  otherwise  he  would  never 
commit  himself  in  that  manner.  Moreover,  I  can  al- 
ways ascertain,  by  the  way  in  which  he  greets  a  man, 
his  relative  position  in  the  public  favor.  I  have  not 
enjoyed  that  pleasure  for  some  time,  but  hope  to  gain  it 
ere  long,  when  I  shall  feel  thoroughly  posted.  Peter  is 
still  more  discriminating,  and  reserves  his  smiles  for 
but  a  very  select  few,  wherein,  let  us  hope,  he  is  not 
mistaken. 

The  most  striking  example  of  the  effect  of  being 
careful  about  one's  bows,  may  be  found  in  the  follow- 
ing tale,  which  is  not  merely,  as  they  say  in  Sunday 
school  books,  founded  on,  but  is  literally,  fact.  The 
innocent  Lippus  was  beloved  by  all  who  knew  him. 
Though  far  from  being  wise  as  a  serpent,  he  was  cer- 
tainly as  harmless  as  a  dove.  He  had  but  one  fault ; 
and  that  was  not  his  own.  He  was  very  short  sighted 
and  utterly  incapable  of  recognizing  anyone  whom  he 
met.  Hinc  ilia  lachrimcE !  I  was  formerly  quite  inti- 
mate with  him,  and  many  a  time  have  we  trod  the 
beaten  path  to  Traeger's  together.  Then  had  I  ample 
opportunities  to  observe  the  embarrassments  in  which 
he  was  constantly  entangled.  "Cursed  snob,"  the 
under-class  man  would  mutter,  as  he  passed  him  by  un- 
noticed. "  Conceited  jackanapes,"  the  upper-class  man 
would  growl,  as  his  greeting  would  be  likewise  unre- 
turned.  While  the  proud  Tutor,  not  receiving  the  two 
fingers  to  the  brim  of  Lippus'  hat,  which  was  his  due, 


I4O  MANNERS   AND    CUSTOMS. 

would  mentally  resolve  to  give  him  an  opportunity  to 
spend  his  vacations  in  profitable  study.  Meanwhile,  he 
pursued  the  even  tenor  of  his  way,  all  unconscious  of 
the  fact  that  he  was  committing  the  unpardonable  sin. 
Occasionally  he  would  try  to  rectify  his  mistakes,  and 
startle  some  person  he  had  never  seen  before  by  giving 
him  an  exceedingly  gracious  bow.  But  once  did  I  see 
his  patience  give  way.  That  was  when,  after  bowing 
and  smiling  vigorously  to  some  one  whom  he  thought 
looked  familiar,  he  turned  to  me  and  asked,  "  Who  was 
that  fellow?  Thank  heaven,  I  recognized  him,  any- 
way !"  Whereupon,  discovering  by  my  answer  that  it 
was  that  man  whom  he  had  always  hated  since  he  stole 
his  hat  in  Freshman  year,  I  regret  to  be  obliged  to  state 
that  he  uttered  a  succession  of  imprecations  to  blot  out 
which  the  Recording  Angel  must  have  exhausted  a 
stock  of  tears  only  equal  to  that  possessed  by  a  teeth- 
ing baby.  All  his  efforts  were  in  vain,  however.  His 
desperate  attempts  at  recognition  were  considered  in- 
solent stares.  The  results  of  his  blindness  were 
deemed  impudent  cuts.  A  merciless  retribution  over- 
took him  in  the  flower  of  his  youth, — 

"  A  cruel  fate  did  him  befall ; 
He  fell,  struck  down  by  the  ruthless  black-ball," 

in  the  language  of  the  poet.  Of  course,  after  that  event, 
a  proper  sense  of  self-respect  prevented  me  from  any 
longer  associating  with  him  ;  for  which  I  was  sorry,  as 
I  had  always  liked  his  society,  especially  when  he  paid 
for  the  beer,  as  he  did  quite  often. 


Sleeping. 

COULD  a  sprite  possessing  a  rapidity  of  locomotion 
equal  to  that  of  Shakespeare's  Puck,  but  endowed  with 
the  sounder  moral  attributes  of  one  of  good  Hans  An- 
dersen's creations,  visit  our  rooms  one  of  these  cold 
wintry  mornings,  and  note  down  in  full  our  thoughts 
and  actions  as  we  are  preparing  for  our  daily  combat 
with  the  god  Somnus,  what  a  strange  and  diversified 
conglomeration  would  his  record  be.  It  would  contain 
not  a  little  that  was  interesting  and  worthy  erf  specula- 
tion. Here  and  there  a  ripple  of  humor  might  break 
over  its  quiet  surface.  But  for  the  most  part  it  would 
be  a  tale  of  lamentation  and  of  woe.  Whatever  may  be 
the  opinions  of  the  outside  world  on  this  question,  I 
am  sure  that  we  here  at  college  long  for  and  pray  for 
the  abolition  of  early  rising,  with  a  remarkable  unanim- 
ity. Possibly  it  is  the  only  point  on  which  we  could 
agree,  but  on  it  we  are  really  united.  We  would 
look  upon  the  everlasting  demolition  of  that  terrible 
bell,  which  rules  so  impartially  and  relentlessly  alike 
dull  and  bright,  rich  and  poor,  much  as  humanity  might 
upon  an  absolution  from  death.  And  it  would  enable 
us  to  lead,  as  that  might  humanity,  a  new,  and,  let  us 
hope,  a  better  life. 

There  is  something  fearfully  galling  and  humiliating 
to  a  man  of  spirit,  to  be  tied  to  the  knell  of  that  chapel 
clock  as  firmly  as  an  infant  to  the  apron-strings  of  his 
nurse  ;  to  reflect  that  in  precisely  so  many  minutes  after 


142  MANNERS   AND   CUSTOMS. 

he  has  broken  the  mystic  spell  and  performed  his  ablu- 
tions, whether  the  day  be  bright  or  dark,  whether  he  be 
in  good  spirits  or  poor,  he  will  have  to  rise  on  his  pins 
and  recite  like  a  machine  to  a  heartless  pedagogue. 
But  if  he  is  not  sensitive  enough  to  be  put  on  the 
wrong  track  mentally,  he  will  be  sure  to  be  physically. 
Take  the  case  I  have  supposed.  The  innocent  victim 
of  a  collegiate  education  having  brushed  away  sleep 
from  his  bewildered  eyes,  may  be  called  upon  to  gaze 
at  the  frost-work  on  his  window-panes.  His  feelings 
may  best  be  compared  to  those  of  a  beggar  in  a  poor- 
house  garret.  To  be  sure,  frost-work  upon  the  window- 
panes  has  been  likened  to  " frozen  dreams,"  "silvery 
mountains,"  and  many  other  pretty  things  ;  but  it  is  hard 
to  foster  much  sentiment  now,  for  sentiment  is  an  ex- 
otic in  a  frigid  zone.  But  supposing  our  friend  has 
been  very  wise,  and  has  spent  a  large  portion  of  his 
patrimony  in  blankets  and  bed-spreads  of  all  kinds,  and 
has  practiced  until  he  can  play  the  drama  of  "  Every 
man  his  own  Chrysalis "  to  perfection,  and  above  all 
has  not  forgotten  to  turn  on  the  "much-gurgling" 
steam-heater  before  retiring — what  then  ? 

It  does  seem  as  if  the  machinations  of  Waite  and 
those  steam-heaters  were  so  simply  devilish,  that  some 
day  they  must  perish  by  being  engulfed  in  their  own 
iniquity.  So  far  our  grievances  are  the  same,  but  what 
a  vast  difference  there  is  in  the  way  in  which  they  are 
enlarged  or  eliminated  by  persons  of  different  temper- 
aments. I  hear  that  you,  young  Jones,  have  secured  a 
"  philosophical,"  and  are  studying  for  the  valedictory. 
You  must  be  careful  not  to  lose  your  reputation  for 
being  a  good-fellow.  I  am  glad  to  know  that  you  were 
out  playing  cards  till  one  last  night,  and  were  the  mer- 
riest of  the  group.  Before  you  retired  you  whispered 


SLEEPING.  143 

in  the  ear  of  your  dearest  friend,  the  alarm-clock,  to 
wake  you  at  half-past  five.  At  the  first  intimation  of  its 
ghostly  rattle  you  start  bolt  up-right  in  bed,  rub  your 
overstrained  eyes,  and  with  confused  thoughts  about 
college  honors,  the  valedictory,  and  a  glorious  career 
in  Congress,  rush  to  the  sponge-bath  and  a  couple  of 
hours'  hard  work  over  the  psychology.  At  nine  you  are 
making  a  "  dead  rush  "  out  of  a  torn-out  leaf,  to  give 
you  an  air  of  abandon.  A  few  years  later  you  will  be  a 
goggle-eyed,  mildewed  clergyman  up  among  the  hills, 
glad  to  come  back  once  a  year  for  the  sake  of  the  free 
alumni  dinner.  Smith,  you  need  not  smile  thus  sar- 
castically. You  are  a  victim  of  the  same  heartless 
egoism  in  another  direction.  Not  feeling  like  studying 
last  night,  you  did  not  prepare  the  morning  lesson. 
That  did  not  trouble  your  conscience  in  the  least.  On 
the  contrary,  you  enjoyed  a  refreshing  sleep,  and  came 
to  consciousness  calmly  and  pleasantly.  Your  mind 
was  not  rudely  disturbed  by  visions  of  an  unprepared 
task.  You  think  to  educate  your  aesthetical  tastes 
by  watching  with  half-closed  eyes  the  slow  progress 
of  the  first  sunbeam  across  the  opposite  wall.  You 
fancy  it  will  lend  a  tithe  of  its  glory  to  your  whole  day. 
It  is  nice  to  be  a  student.  But  you  are  old  enough  now 
to  be  a  man.  "  Skinning"  is  not  manly,  and  you  mean 
soon  to  give  up  that  pernicious  habit.  Meanwhile  you 
muffle  yourself  up  a  little  closer  in  the  bed-clothes,  and 
speculate  upon  the  absurd  but  delightful  luxury  of  a 
whole  existence  in  bed,  like  "  an  oyster  in  its  shell,  con- 
tent with  the  sluggish  ecstasy  of  inaction,  and  drowsily 
conscious  of  nothing  but  delicious  warmth,"  such  as 
you  now  feel.  Ah  !  what  a  heaven-sent  gift  to  the  lazy 
man  is  our  new  quarter-hour  clock.  It  metes  out  to 
him,  as  it  were,  so  nicely  and  so  daintily  the  portions  of 


144  MANNERS    AND    CUSTOMS. 

his  bliss.  No  opium-eater's  scales  could  be  more  hon- 
est or  sensitive.  The  quarter-hours  are  such  inexpen- 
sive and  acceptable  little  gifts  to  present  one's  self 
with  ;  and  then  there  is  the  delightful  speculation  and 
uncertainty  as  to  whether  they  will  be  followed  in  the 
end,  as  by  an  omnipresent  and  watchful  guardian,  by 
the  full,  deep  tones  of  the  larger  bell. 

What  shall  I  say  to  you,  my  poor,  dilapidated  bum- 
mer, Robinson?  Were  I  a  Hogarth,  or  a  Steele,  or  an 
Addison,  I  might  gloat  over  and  publish  to  the  whole 
town,  your  moral  degradation  and  loss  of  self-respect. 
I  would  go  back  to  the  time — it  seems  a  long  way  off 
now — when  you  were  an  awkward,  bashful  Freshman, 
but  not  afraid  to  say  you  despised  and  would  have  no 
part  in  drunkenness  and  vice.  I  would  ask  you 
whether  you  adopted  the  course  which  you  have  since 
pursued  from  inclination,  or  simply  because  you  were 
weakly  led  into  it  by  others  ?  Ah  !  but  I  forget  the  case 
is  changed.  You  are  an  upper-class  man  now,  and  have 
a  right  to  that  sort  of  thing.  There  is  nothing  wrong 
in  it ;  only  it  is  a  trifle  annoying  to  feel  that  your  de- 
testable bed  has  made  your  head  and  limbs  ache  so  ; 
to  find  that  you  need  to  go  to  a  city  hydrant  for  a  suffi- 
cient supply  of  drinking-water,  and  that  you  are  obliged 
to  put  on  your  hat  with  a  shoe-horn.  Then  your  break- 
fast is  a  trifle  slim.  Your  landlady  has  such  a  disgust- 
ing habit  of  putting  things  on  the  table  half-cooked  and 
in  helter-skelter  order.  And  the  fellows  will  stare  at 
you  and  insist  that  you  were  full  last  night.  They 
are  an  ill-bred  set  after  all,  if  they  have  called  them- 
selves your  friends.  You  will  not  have  anything  to  do 
with  them  after  this.  But  above  all,  you  are  solemnly 
convinced  that  not  another  glass  of  liquor  shall  ever 
pass  your  lips.  It  is  a  noble  resolution,  and  one  which 


SLEEPIXI;.  14; 

it  would  pay  any  man  to  keep,  but  it  does  not  seem,  in 
the  present  instance,  to  inspire  you  with  any  great  en- 
thusiasm. In  fact  you  sit  there  in  rather  a  cataleptic 
and  melancholy  state,  until  the  tinkling  of  that  irre- 
pressible bell  calls  you  to  chapel,  whither  hastens  also 
the  high-stand  Jones,  and  behind  him  the  lazy  Smith  ; 
for  all  have  thrown  off  the  somnolent  state,  and  daily 
life  at  Yale  has  begun. 


(Class-room  manners. 

"  MANY  men  of  many  minds "  says  the  proverb, 
"many  men  of  many  manners"  says  J.;  and  many  stu- 
dents have  manners  as  distinctly  their  own  as  are  their 
faces.  And  despite  the  dangers  of  being  attacked  for 
writing  on  one  of  "  the  old,  hackneyed  subjects  of  col- 
lege life  and  relations,"  I  shall  endeavor  to  sketch  for 
the  reader  a  few  of  these  individual  manners. 

There  is  the  cool,  cheeky  man,  who  never  loses  his 
self-possession  while  reciting,  and  who  fears  not  to  say 
anything  so  long  as  it  is  plausible.  He  corrects  the 
blunders  of  the  instructor  to  his  face,  and,  if  the  latter 
be  at  all  timid,  "  bluffs  "  him.  He  will  render  a  passage 
full  of  abusive  epithets  with  all  the  force  that  a  ranting 
actor  on  the  stage  could  give,  and  by  taking  things  in 
the  most  literal  way  possible  will  often  set  the  division 
in  a  roar. 

His  counterpart  is  the  man  who,  apparently  or  really, 
never  dares  to  utter  a  sentence  quickly  or  continuously, 
but  would  render  the  first  sentence  in  Caesar  somewhat 
"thusly:"  "All— ah— all  Gaul— ah— that  is— all— all 
Gaul  is — ah — is  divided — vided — ah — into — er — there 
— er — ah  into  three  parts." 

It  is  extremely  wearisome  sometimes  to  be  compelled 
to  listen  to  some  of  these  "er"ing  brethren.  One  feels 
as  though  it  would  be  a  relief  to  take  hold  of  such  an 
one  and  shake  a  sentence  out  of  him. 

In  agreeable  contrast  to  the  slow  and  sure  reciters 
is  the  Jack-in-the-box. 


CLASS-ROOM   MANNERS.  147 

A  specimen  is  occasionally  found  of  one  who  fully 
offsets  Jack's  mechanical  promptness  by  doing  a  great 
deal  before  he  gets  ready  to  recite,  and  by  saying  a  great 
deal  before  he  opens  his  mouth.  It  is  an  amusing  study 
to  watch  such  an  one  when  called  upon  to  recite.  He 
never  hears  his  name  the  first  time,  and  when,  by  dint 
of  a  second  summons  from  the  instructor,  and  sundry 
whisperings  and  pokings  from  those  around,  he  compre- 
hends that  something  is  wanted  of  him,  he  carries  on  an 
animated  monologue  by  means  of  the  expressions  of  his 
face.  First,  a  look  of  blank  astonishment  says,  "  Is  it 
possible  that  you  want  me  to  recite?"  Then  an  air  of 
perplexity  says,  "  Is  it  me  or  somebody  else  ?"  "  What's 
the  question  and  what's  the  answer?"  Then  as  he  rises 
half  way  a  gleam  of  hope  conjectures  "  Maybe  he  made 
a  mistake  in  calling  me."  As  no  facts  strengthen  this 
supposition,  an  imploring  glance  begs  "  Please  call 
some  one  else."  Then  a  reproachful  look  as  he  fairly 
gains  his  feet ;  "  How  could  you  call  me?"  Then  a  re- 
signed, martyr-like  look  drives  remorse  to  the  instruc- 
tor's heart,  as  it  plainly  utters,  "Very  well ;  I'll  forgive 
you  ;  but  if  I  flunk,  it  won't  be  my  fault." 

Every  class,  every  division,  has  its  unfortunate  man, 
who  always  knows  a  lesson  perfectly,  but  never  tinder- 
stands  exactly  what  the  instructor  means  by  his  ques- 
tions. So  he  asks,  "  Do  you  mean  this  ?"  and  "  Do  you 
want  that  I  should  give  that  ?"  and  "  Such  and  such  is 
so  and  so  ;"  all  of  which  is  wholly  unconnected  with 
the  question  asked.  At  last  the  unfortunate  man  sits 
down,  leaving  the  impression  on  the  rest  of  the  division 
that  he  has  flunked.  Flunked  !  By  no  means  !  Didn't 
he  know  the  lesson  perfectly?  But  for  fear  a  similar 
erroneous  impression  may  have  entered  the  mind  (and 
book)  of  the  instructor,  Infelix  lingers  after  recitation 


148  MANNERS   AND   CUSTOMS. 

and  elaborately  explains  that  he  knew  this,  but  under- 
stood that  the  instructor  wanted  this  or  the  other,  which 
was  not  explained  in  the  text-book,  etc.,  till  in  sheer 
self-defence  the  teacher  exclaims  "  Well,  I  suppose  the 
long  and  short  of  it  is  that  you  want  me  to  allow  you  to 
make  up  the  lesson."  Infelix  scorns  the  imputation, 
and,  with  all  his  dignity  aroused  by  being  so  misunder- 
stood, witheringly  replies  "  No,  sir  !  I  only  want  you  to 
understand  that  I  knew  the  lesson  ;  I  don't  care  what 
mark  you  give  me  ;"  and,  turning  grandly  on  his  heel, 
strides  out  into  the  free  air  of  heaven. 


"  WHAT  shall  we  eat,  and  what  shall  we  drink,"  are 
questions  which  concern  college  students  perhaps  as 
deeply  as  the  rest  of  mankind.  However  large  their 
consumption  of  mental  pabulum,  and  however  copious 
their  draughts  at  the  wells  of  knowledge,  they  differ  not 
from  other  men  in  requiring  some  more  substantial  sup- 
plies. It  is  of  an  institution  founded  to  meet  these  de- 
mands that  I  propose  to  write.  The  college  club  is 
eminently  an  organization  sui generis.  Composed  of  a 
number  of  classmates,  who  board  entirely  by  them- 
selves, free  from  the  watchful  eye  of  the  New  Haven 
landlady,  it  furnishes,  I  sometimes  think,  the  most 
favorable  opportunity  to  be  obtained  for  the  observation 
of  student  character.  And  I  hold  that  no  man  can  con- 
sider his  college  experience  complete,  who  has  not 
been  at  one  time  or  another  in  his  course  a  member  of 
one  of  these  institutions. 

The  average  daily  life  of  a  club  furnishes  much  to 
interest  a  careful  observer.  If  such  is  not  your  regular 
.  habit,  gentle  reader,  I  advise  you  to  go  to  breakfast 
some  morning  early  enough  to  watch  the  different  mem- 
bers, as  they  come  to  partake  of  the  matutinal  meal. 
First  enters  the  punctual  man  with  lesson  prepared  the 
night  before,  ready  to  give  his  undistracted  attention  to 
the  duties  of  the  table.  Soon  after  strolls  in  another, 
whose  acquaintance  with  the  lesson  is  so  limited  that  his 
time  during  the  meal  is  divided  between  plate  and 


150  MANNERS   AND   CUSTOMS. 

book.  As  time  passes  on,  you  will  notice  that  the  sal- 
utations of  the  new-comers  to  their  comrades  grow 
briefer  and  more  concise,  and  that  the  conversation, 
which  may  at  first  have  been  quite  animated,  gradually 
dies  away  until  it  hardly  extends  beyond  requests  for 
the  various  services  of  the  table.  At  length,  when  the 
din  of  knife  and  fork  is  at  its  height,  and  the  bell  is  just 
commencing  to  ring  out  its  notes,  in  bursts  the  man 
who  has  "slept  over,"  and  has  just  time  enough  for  a 
cup  of  coffee  and  a  swallow  or  two  of  food.  And  as 
the  manner  of  their  coming  is  peculiar,  so  will  their 
manner  of  answering  the  prayer-bell  attract  attention. 
As  soon  as  the  first  warning  notes  are  heard,  you  will 
see  one  or  two  picking  up  hat  and  books,  and  prepar- 
ing to  answer  its  summons.  To  the  majority,  however, 
the  first  bell  is  but  a  signal  for  renewed  devotion  to  the 
work  before  them.  Even  when  the  second  bell  is 
heard,  a  few  valiant  spirits  retain  their  seats,  whom 
long  experience  has  taught  the  exact  number  of  sec- 
onds required  for  the  passage  from  club-room  to  chapel. 
At  length,  however,  the  very  last  rushes  from  the  table, 
and  the  room,  a  few  minutes  before  full  of  noise  and 
confusion,  relapses  into  profound  quiet.  Such  is  break- 
fast at  a  large  club.  Each  meal  has  its  distinguishing 
characteristics,  but  I  will  only  allude  to  the  different 
phases  which  conversation  takes  at  each.  Breakfast, 
as  preceding  recitation,  is  chiefly  occupied  with  ques-- 
tions  as  to  the  lesson,  the  different  degrees  of  prepara- 
tion upon  it,  and  the  chances  of  being  up.  Dinner  and 
tea  each  follow  a  recitation,  and  the  talk  naturally  turns 
upon  its  results.  "Rushes,"  "fizzles,"  "flunks,"  "good 
luck,"  "  bad  luck,"  are  expressions  which  you  will  hear 
on  every  side. 

So  passes  a  day  in  the  club  when  the  college  world  is 


THE  CLUB.  151 

at  peace.  But  would  you  become  fully  acquainted  with 
the  institution,  you  must  be  present  when  the  ordinary 
dull  round  of  events  has  been  interrupted.  Perhaps  as 
good  an  occasion  as  any  for  this  purpose  is  the  evening 
meal,  immediately  after  a  rush  in  which  all  the  mem- 
bers of  the  club  participated.  Each  ready  with  some  tale 
of  personal  daring  and  gallantry  and  all  alike  desirous  to 
make  known  their  part  in  the  "victory"  which  is  in- 
variably gained,  a  greater  "confusion  of  tongues"  can 
hardly  be  imagined.  Somewhat  similar  is  the  condi- 
tion of  the  club  after  a  good  game  of  base-ball,  or  a 
successful  boat-race.  Excitement  does  not  now  run  so 
high,  but  even  on  such  an  occasion  one  can  hardly  re- 
frain from  a  desire  to  match  twenty  collegians  against 
an  equal  number  of  the  ancient  denizens  of  Babel,  with 
entire  confidence  that  the  verdict  would  be  in  favor  of 
the  nineteenth  century. 

But  while  there  is  much  of  interest  in  the  outward 
life  of  the  club,  the  thoughtful  observer  will  prize  the 
opportunity  it  affords  for  the  study  of  character.  The 
average  college  club  contains  some  specimens  of  the 
genus  homo  which  merit  attention.  Happy  that  club,  if 
such  there  be,  which  does  not  contain  the  bore.  How- 
ever unlike  the  outside  world  in  other  respects,  college 
resembles  it  in  being  afflicted  with  this  pest.  The  col- 
lege bore  is  par  excellence  a  traveled  man.  No  tale  of 
most  thrilling  adventure  can  you  tell,  but  he  has  wit- 
nessed or  experienced  its  parallel.  Indeed,  you  may 
consider  yourself  fortunate,  if  you  are  even  allowed  to 
tell  your  story  uninterrupted  by  his  busy  tongue.  As 
for  any  college  occurrence  in  which  you  were  the  chief 
actor  and  he  a  remote  spectator,  you  may  well  despair 
of  ever  having  an  opportunity  to  give  your  version  of 
the  story.  If  in  your  innocence  you  should  once  be  so 


152  MANNERS    AND    CUSTOMS. 

bold  as  to  interrupt  him,  in  order  to  correct  some  glar- 
ing error  in  his  account,  a  few  sentences  from  him  by 
way  of  reproof  will  convince  you  that  you  really  have 
very  little  knowledge  of  what  you  said  or  did.  Grad- 
ually, if  you  are  docile,  you  will  come  to  hear  with  the 
utmost  composure  the  worst  misrepresentations  of  your 
conduct  and  actions,  rather  than  brave  his  indignant 
censure. 

Another  character,  which  you  will  usually  find,  is  the 
college  gossip.  He  is  the  man  who  is  always  the  first 
to  make  known  all  changes  in  the  regular  courses 
of  events,  who  keeps  an  accurate  record  of  the  health 
and  movements  of  all  our  instructors,  and  is  the  first 
to  announce  the  sickness  or  absence  from  town  of 
any  of  them,  who  can  give  a  complete  list  of  the  prizes 
and  honors  taken  by  every  prominent  man  in  every 
class,  together  with  the  societies  to  which  he  has  be- 
longed, and  who  in  short  has  any  amount  of  small  talk 
about  almost  anybody  or  thing  you  may  mention.  Al- 
though sometimes  his  conversation  is  so  puerile  as  to 
become  disagreeable,  you  have  only  to  contrast  him  with 
the  bore  and  you  will  no  longer  complain.  A  club  also 
contains  a  number  of  men  not  so  prominent  for  any  par- 
ticular type  of  character.  There  is,  however,  generally 
some  man  who  is  known  as  the  joker  of  the  club,  whose 
time  is  fully  occupied  in  most  excruciating  attempts  at 
wit  and  humor  ;  some  man  who  is  always  behind  the 
times,  and  occasionally  breaks  in  with  some  startling 
news  which  every  one  else  had  known  a  week  before  ; 
and  some  man  who  is  less  renowned  for  his  conversa- 
tional powers,  than  for  the  sublime  equanimity  with 
which  he  disposes  of  whatever  eatables  are  set  before 
him. 

It  is   the   fashion   with  some   to  disparage  clubs  as 


THE   CLUB.  •  153 

nurseries  of  slang,  rudeness  and  ill-breeding.  I  will 
not  deny  that  there  is  some  ground  for  the  criticism. 
I  have  sometimes  seen  a  club  when  delayed  a  few 
minutes  beyond  the  usual  hour,  which  a  passer-by 
might  from  the  tumult  have  mistaken  for  a  pack  of  bar- 
barians. I  have  known  men  who  elsewhere  pass  for 
gentlemen,  whose  conduct  at  the  table  would  go  far  to 
disabuse  one  of  that  opinion  of  them.  And  it  cannot  be 
denied  that  conversation  is  sometimes  indulged  in, 
which  few  would  care  to  repeat  in  the  home-circle.  But 
these  things  are  the  exception  rather  than  the  rule. 
They  are  the  faults  which  seem  inseparable  from  even 
the  best  of  institutions.  On  the  other  hand,  there  is  a 
heartiness  and  good-fellowship,  the  absence  of  which 
is  not  compensated  for  by  the  stiffest  formality,  secured 
by  the  most  angular  and  cross-grained  landlady.  Taken 
all  in  all,  the  club  is  an  important  element  in  the  social 
life,  which  is  so  pleasant  and  valuable  a  feature  of  the 
course  at  Yale,  and  I  hope  that  it  may  long  live  and 
thrive. 


•   Slang. 

IT  is  a  melancholy  fact  that  all  men  are,  by  the  influ- 
ences of  civilization,  being  gradually  reduced  to  one 
level.  This  equalizing  process  is  abstracting  all  indi- 
viduality from  life,  and  will  eventually  convert  it  to  one 
grand  plain,  which  can  possess  none  of  the  elements  of 
picturesque  beauty,  unless  its  monotony  be  mitigated 
by  the  relieving  effects  of  mountain  and  valley.  The 
romance  of  Knight-errantry,  for  instance,  has  gone  by 
the  board  ;  the  spotted  red  handkerchief  is  no  longer 
swung  over  the  shoulder  of  the  fortune-seeker :  life  is 
becoming  altogether  too  substantial.  Modern  novelists 
tacitly  acknowledge  the  fact  by  selecting  a  less  material 
age  than  the  present  for  the  scene  of  a  story  in  which 
romance  is  to  abound.  Since,  then,  all  interest  in  life  is 
born  of  oddity,  we  ought  to  cling  tenaciously  to  any 
custom  which  savors  of  the  time  in  which  there  was 
some  life.  Such  a  custom  is  the  use  of  slang. 

The  enlightenment  of  modern  times  would  drive  the 
use  of  slang  to  the  wall  and  characterize  it  as  fit  for  the 
low  and  ignorant  only.  This  is  hard  luck  on  us  here 
in  college  where 

"  The  slang  the  gang  is  using 
Is  heard  on  every  lip." 

But  slang  always  stands  as  an  exponent  of  the  amount 
of  vitality  in  any  community.  The  Baconian  method  of 
reasoning  can  be  adduced  to  prove  it.  A  foreigner  in 
our  land  is  always  contrasting  with  the  comparative 


SLANG.  155 

hum-drum  of  the  old  world,  American  stir  and  energy ; 
and  slang  is  peculiarly  an  American  habit.  We  are 
called  a  fast  as  well  as  slangy  nation.  Slang  increases 
in  prevalence  toward  the  Pacific,  where  life  has  its 
greatest  reality,  and  is  almost  entirely  wanting  in  the 
stagnation  of  a  New  England  village.  Could  maps  be 
constructed  "designed  to  illustrate,"  by  means  of 
shaded  zones,  this  social  phenomenon,  the  pale  gray 
tint  at  Boston  would  deepen  during  its  western  pro- 
gress and  reach  a  perfect  blackness  around  the  mining- 
camps  of  California  and  Nevada.  The  shading,  too, 
would  be  gradual,  save  in  the  region  of  our  colleges 
where  Cimmerian  darkness  would  prevail. 

Since,  then,  slang  is  the  direct  outgrowth  of  a  vigorous 
state  of  existence,  it  is  not  illegitimate.  It  arises  from 
a  necessity  for  it  and  its  peculiar  fitness  to  meet  that 
necessity.  Its  prevalence  proves  that  it  is  more  than  a 
useless  habit.  All  circles  and  professions  have  their 
peculiar  forms  of  slang.  There  are  the  cant  expres- 
sions of  the  bar,  trade,  the  army  ;  the  church  even  calls 
its  profession  "  the  cloth,"  and  everyone  is  familiar  with 
prayer  slang.  A  college  student  without  slang  is,  to 
use  a  simile  of  Charles  Dudley  Warner,  like  an  English- 
man without  side-whiskers. 

Those  who  militate  against  slang  argue  that  it  is  used 
where  ability  is  wanting  to  convey  an  idea  intelligibly  ; 
that  by  using  it  the  person  addressed  is  called  upon  to 
supply  from  his  own  imagination  what  the  user  is  incap- 
able of  communicating.  If  this  is  true,  ignorance  must 
be  the  parent  of  it,  and  here  is  another  reflection  against 
us  college  students.  I  think,  however,  without  undue 
conceit,  that  no  fair-minded  person  can  in  our  case 
connect  slang  with  ignorance.  Neither  is  it  careless- 
ness nor  laziness.  We  use  slang  advisedly,  because  it 


156  MANNERS   AND   CUSTOMS. 

is  a  good  thing  in  more  ways  than  one.  It  is  a  tie  that 
binds  us  together.  It  is  like  a  provincial  dialect  which 
here  makes  us  feel  our  community  of  interest,  and  when 
our  ticket-of-leave  in  the  shape  of  a  sheep-skin  shall 
have  caused  us  to  encounter  the  cold  mercies  of  the 
world,  one  word  of  campus  cant  dropped  in  our  hear- 
ing will  stir  our  souls  even  as  that  of  the  homesick 
Highlander  is,  by  the  bag-pipes  of  his  native  land. 

It  is,  too,  an  absolute  necessity  in  order  to  save  a 
Johnsonian  verbosity.  A  college  statistician  has  com- 
puted that  the  word  "flunk  "  is  used  on  an  average  five 
times  a  day  by  every  undergraduate.  If  to  convey  the 
same  idea  contained  in  this  expressive  little  word  we 
were  obliged  to  spin  it  out  into  "  a  failure  to  acquit 
ourselves  creditably  in  recitation,"  a  simple  mathemat- 
ical calculation  will  serve  to  show  the  enormous  waste 
of  time  and  words.  College  slang  is  picturesque,  and 
very  often  affords  a  means  for  the  practical  application 
of  the  aesthetics  of  every  day  life.  Call  a  match  a 
match,  and  the  thing  is  commonplace  enough  ;  but  call 
it  a  "hell-stick,"  and  this  graphic  way  of  putting  it 
vividly  paints  the  blue  sulphurous  flame,  the  suffocat- 
ing fumes  and  the  disgusting  odor  of  the  brimstone 
lake,  the  place  of  torment  for  the  man  who  refuses  to 
use  the  more  toned  and  less  inoffensive  "  snapper"  in- 
stead of  the  aforesaid  relic  of  barbarism.  College  slang 
is  euphemistic  ;  there  is  a  balm  for  a  headache  caused 
by  last  night's  debauch  to  have  it  said  you  were 
"slightly  cheered"  or  "slewed"  or  "boiled."  It  is 
forcible  ;  when  we  hear  the  command  "  skip  "  we  know 
that  argument  is  unnecessary  but  "  prance  "  we  must. 

There  are  men,  usually  one  in  every  class,  who  per- 
form the  duties  of  slang  autocrats.  The}' determine  the 
value  of  new  expressions  and  import  the  best  to  take 


fr 

SLANG.  157 

the  place  of  old,  worn-out  ones.  They  are  continually 
gasping  after  something  new  in  their  line,  like  a  sworn- 
off  smoker  after  a  ring  of  tobacco-smoke.  One  kind  of 
college  slang  is  however  independent  of  their  favor.  It 
is  that  which  has  been  incorporated  into  the  most  legit- 
imate talk  about  college  and  has  the  flavor  of  age  to 
recommend  it  to  conservatism.  Such  slang  our  fathers 
have  used  and  our  sons  will  use.  We  can  meet  the  lat- 
ter in  after  years  on  their  native  heath,  as  it  were,  and 
talk  this  time-honored  slang  about  "rushes,"  and 
"  cuts,"  and  "  flunks  "  without  calling  down  upon  our 
parental  heads  a  slang  expression  of  the  Young  Amer- 
ica of  ancient  Greece,  "  smelling  of  Chronos." 


UMjist. 

IT  \vas  the  last  day  of  the  fall  term,  and  I  was  pack- 
ing my  trunk  for  the  journey  home.  Shirts  and  trous- 
ers, tooth-brushes,  slippers  and  unmentionables  lay 
scattered  around  in  pleasing  confusion  ;  and  occupying 
the  place  of  honor  were  two  or  three  text-books,  show- 
ing that  vacation  was  not  to  be  wholly  given  up  to  a 
round  of  dissipation.  There  was  a  Barker's  Chemistry, 
with  formulas  long  enough  to  fill  up  eternity  ;  a  Porter's 
Human  Intellect,  if  such  a  barbarous  book  can  be 
called  human  ;  two  or  three  paper-covered  novels,  be- 
neath whose  French  words  was  concealed  an  amount  of 
indecency,  the  mere  mention  of  which  in  honest  Anglo- 
Saxon  would  have  set  one's  ears  tingling  with  shame  ; 
and  last,  but  not  least,  an  elegantly  bound  copy  of 
Pole's  Whist.  All  these  books  had  their  different  asso- 
ciations, more  or  less  pleasant.  The  Intellect  and 
Chemistry  gently  reminded  of  flunking,  skinning,  and 
conditions  ;  the  novels,  of  an  acquaintance  with  French, 
gained  at  the  expense  of  the  moral  na-ture  ;  but  the  Pole 
— the  infernal  Pole — called  up  such  an  accumulation  of 
woes,  that  by  an  ungovernable  impulse  it  was  hurled 
across  the  room,  breaking,  in  its  mad  career,  the  $3.75 
lamp-shade,  and  overturning  the  inkstand  upon  a  newly 
covered  table.  Perhaps  it  was  a  silly  thing  to  do.  Per- 
haps paying  for  the  damage  was  not  a  very  satisfac- 
tory way  of  relieving  one's  feelings.  But  unless  I  am 
very  much  mistaken,  there  are  many  in  college  who 


WHIST.  159 

would  have  done  the  same  thing  under  the  same  cir- 
cumstances. 

It  was  out  of  sheer  desperation  that  I  first  attempted 
to  learn  the  mysteries  of  whist.  I  must  premise  that  I 
am  of  a  social  nature,  and  am  accustomed  to  drop 
around  in  my  friends'  rooms  for  a  quiet  talk  and  smoke. 
Many  is  the  pleasant  evening  I  had  enjoyed  in  the  days 
long  gone  by  (ere  whist  had  become  the  one  absorbing 
object  of  life),  lounging  before  an  open  fire  in  South,  my 
favorite  J^narwood^  emitting  clouds  of  smoke,  discussing 
the  latest  injustice  of  the  Faculty,  or  the  chances  of 
crew  or  nine  during  the  coming  season.  All  this,  how- 
ever, was  at  an  end.  The  demon  whist  had  taken  pos- 
session of  the  class,  and  all  else  was  banished  from  his 
presence.  In  the  place  of  a  jolly  crowd  hidden  in 
clouds  of  smoke,  each  adding  his  mite  to  the  general 
fund  of  innocent  gossip  and  fun,  four  men  are  seated 
about  a  small  table,  their  funereal  countenances  drawn 
down  to  a  preternatural  length,  oblivious  of  everything 
but  the  progress  of  the  game.  Not  a  sound  breaks  the 
unnatural  stillness,  except  now  and  then  when  the 
players  stop  to  discuss  a  doubtful  point,  or  predict  how 
"  many  tricks  we  might  have  made  had  you  only  played 
so  and  so."  And  this  not  in  one  room,  or  two  rooms, 
but  in  every  room  where,  in  days  of  yore,  I  was  wont  to 
pass  the  pleasantest  evenings  and  smoke  the  very  best 
mixtures  possible.  It  may  be  easily  surmised  that  I 
and  those  of  a  similar  mind  did  not  yield  to  the  infatu- 
ation without  a  strugle.  It  was  very  dreary  to  enter  a 
room  and  sit  still  for  an  hour,  bored  by  your  own 
thoughts,  yet  unable  to  open  your  mouth,  the  monotony 
occasionally  broken  by  a  jargon  more  unintelligible 
than  the  talk  of  a  Sandwich  Islander.  But  all  this  we 
did  endure  in  the  hope  of  the  dawn  of  a  better  day, — 


l6o  MANNERS  AND  CUSTOMS. 

but  only  to  experience  bitter  disappointment.  At  last, 
some  of  us  plunged  madly  into  that  vortex  of  dissipa- 
tion, New  Haven  society,  in  the  vain  hope  of  finding 
some  relief.  But  even  in  this,  again,  we  were  doomed 
to  disappointment.  If  Pole  was  the  demon  of  the  col- 
lege world,  Pole  was  ten-fold  the  god  of  New  Haven 
society.  The  "  voluptuous  waltz  "had  been  torn  from 
its  pedestal,  and  in  its  place  had  been  set  up  that  ortho- 
dox deity,  Whist.  One  who  did  not  play  was,  of  course, 
debarred  from  enjoying  these  social  pleasures.  The 
numerous  whist  parties  which  filled  up  the  gaps  be- 
tween the  great  parties  of  the  season,  left  him  out  in  the 
cold.  And  even  when  by  chance  there  did  happen  to 
be  something  which  he  cared  to  attend,  the  conversa- 
tion all  turned  upon  how  well  this  one  played,  and  how 
poorly  that  one  ;  what  bad  luck  Mr.  A.  and  myself  had 
last  night,  but  what  good  fortune  Mr.  B.  and  myself 
enjoyed  the  night  before.  In  truth,  wherever  the  poor 
unfortunate  turned,  before  or  behind,  on  the  right  or 
the  left,  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  or  heard  but 
whist !  whist !  !  WHIST  ! ! ! 

Goaded,  at  length,  to  desperation,  I  attempted  in  an 
evil  hour,  to  learn  the  mysteries  of  whist.  Of  the  first 
few  games  I  can  speak  with  pride  and  elation.  Of 
course,  I  had  a  beginner's  luck,  and  held  all  the  desira- 
ble cards  in  the  pack.  However  carelessly  I  might 
play,  and  however  many  mistakes  I  might  make,  still 
victory  perched  upon  the  banner  of  partner  and  self.  I 
was,  indeed,  often  informed  how  many  more  tricks  I 
might  have  taken,  had  I  only  led  from  clubs  instead  of 
hearts,  or  brought  in  my  long  suit  at  a  particular  mo- 
ment, visible  to  the  eye  of  a  scientific  player.  But, 
under  cover  of  extraordinary  success,  I  could  afford  to 
disregard  all  such  little  innuendos.  But  alas  !  a  change 


WHIST.  l6l 

came  over  the  spirit  of  my  dreams.  Fortune  basely  de- 
serted me.  The  luck  which  once  was  mine,  was  mine 
no  longer.  And  then  how  aggravating  it  was  to  see 
even  my  good  cards  rendered  useless  by  the  science  of 
my  adversaries.  Perhaps  my  partner  was,  by  some 
rare  chance,  a  really  good  player, — and  then  how  pleas- 
ant to  listen  to  his  curses,  not  loud  but  deep,  when  in  a 
fit  of  abstraction  I  trumped  his  trick  or  failed  to 
answer  his  signal  for  trumps.  Perhaps  (and  this  was 
more  frequently  the  case)  my  partner's  knowledge  was 
even  less  than  my  own,  and  then  what  a  prey  we  were 
to  the  skill  of  our  adversaries  ;  what  objects  of  unlim- 
ited game  to  all  spectators  !  I  had  often  heard  of  the 
hard,  relentless  march  of  science,  sparing  neither  friend 
nor  foe  in  its  onward  advance.  I  never  before  realized 
the  truth  which  lay  hidden  beneath  those  words.  They 
are  now,  however,  words  full  of  awful  meaning.  Some- 
times, in  my  desperation,  I  even  ventured  to  offend 
against  the  demon  of  whist  by  attempting  to  smoke  and 
play  at  the  same  time.  I  thought,  in  my  ignorance, 
that  the  soothing  influence  of  man's  best  friend,  tobac- 
co, would  assist  me  in  bearing  my  defeat.  But  the 
demon  always  revenged  himself  upon  me.  At  one 
time,  in  my  absorption  in  the  game,  I  entirely  forgot  my 
cigar,  and  was  only  reminded  of  it  by  the  unexpected 
fall  of  a  cloud  of  white  ashes  all  over  a  new  diagonal 
coat ;  at  another,  I,  from  a  similar  cause,  dropped  a 
cigarette,  severely  burning  myself.  My  pipe  I  invaria- 
bly allowed  to  go  out,  and  then,  in  serene  unconscious- 
ness, by  a  more  than  usually  energetic  pull,  I  drew 
into  my  mouth  a  dose  of  nicotine  large  enough,  on  any 
competent  medical  authority,  to  kill  a  healthy  giant. 

After  two  or  three  months  of  this  sort  of  thing,  I  be- 
came entirely  sick  of  even  the  name  whist.     And  yet, 
6 


l62  MANNERS  AND   CUSTOMS. 

when  not  playing,  I  occupied  an  almost  solitary  posi- 
tion among  my  classmates,  since  that  seemed  to  be 
universally  acknowledged,  as  has  been  already  said, 
the  only  amusement  worthy  of  attention.  I  was  told  that 
my  dislike'tcTtthe  game  was  due  to  slight  knowledge 
and  short  experience,  and  I  was  advised  to  learn  the 
modern  scientific  game.  With  this  in  view,  I  purchased 
the  elegantly  bound  copy  of  Pole  already  mentioned, 
and  made  an  entirely  fresh  start.  I  read  with  great  at- 
tention the  entire  book  through  twice,  including  the 
preface  ;  as  it  was  impressed  that  nothing  on  any  ac- 
count, was  to  be  omitted.  I  also,  by  dint  of  severe  ap- 
plication, continued  through  a  series  of  weeks,  learned 
by  heart  those  numerous  specific  rules  which  take  up 
so  large  a  portion  of  this  invaluable  treatise.  Now,  I 
thought,  I  am  armed  cap-a-pie,  and  can  venture  again 
upon  the  field.  But  this  time  I  did  not  meet  with  suc- 
cess even  at  first.  My  career  was  a  mortifying  failure 
throughout.  I  have  not — I  blush  to  own  it,  but  truth 
compels  me — either  a  good  memory  or  a  logical  faculty. 
As  a  result,  I  invariably  played  according  to  rule,  but 
unfortunately  always  the  wrong  rule  at  the  wrong  time. 
I  never  could  tell  how  to  vary  my  playing  according  to 
the  special  requirements  of  a  particular  case.  My 
stupidity  was  now  made  more  apparent  than  before,  as 
my  mistakes  could  not  be  attributed,  by  even  a  partial 
judge,  to  ignorance  of  the  rules.  I  had  always  a  genius 
for  blunders,  and  now  this  genius  shone  forth  resplen- 
dent. I  at  this  time  accepted  a  few  invitations  to  make 
up  a  hand  at  one  of  those  numerous  whist-parties.  But 
it  must  be  confessed  that  I  was  insufferably  bored,  and 
perhaps,  also,  succeeded  in  making  a  complete  ass  of 
myself.  I  could  extract  no  enjoyment  from  a  two  hours' 
silent  tfae-a-t&te  with  a  pretty  young  lady,  especially  when 


WHIST.  163 

I  was  continually  disgracing  myself  by  constant  blun- 
ders, and  continually  trapping  her  into  even  worse 
ones. 

Slowly  and  sadly  it  has  dawned  upon  me  that  nature 
never  intended  me  for  a  whist  player.  I  hate  the 
game  ;  nay,  the  very  sight  of  a  pack  of  cards  sets  me  wild. 
That,  to  me,  most  expensive  edition  of  Pole,  has  long 
ago  been  consigned  to  the  flames.  I  look  back  upon 
that  Christmas  vacation  as  one  of  the  happiest  periods 
of  my  life.  For  three  entire  weeks  I  was  buried  in  a 
part  of  the  country  where  even  the  mention  of  cards 
was  thought  a  deadly  sin. 

I  know  not  what  may  be  the  developments  of  the 
future.  From  the  present  indications  I  should  judge 
it  not  improbable  that  a  knowledge  of  Pole  will  be  one 
of  the  requirements  for  admission  to  Yale  in  the  year 
1900.  If  this  be  the  case,  no  son  of  mine  shall  ever  join 
the  annual  procession  to  Alumni  Hall. 


CLASS-ROOM    HUMORS. 


Reflections  on  a  ®reat  Bugbear. 

I  WIPE  my  pen,  pick  up  my  blotting-paper,  hand  in 
a  dozen  pages  or  so  of  copper-plate  manuscript,  put 
on  my  hat,  and,  standing  on  Alumni  steps,  realize  or 
attempt  to  realize  that  another  year  has  gone,  that 
another  annual  is  shelved.  I  say  attempt  to  realize,  for 
it  takes  a  mind  of  more  than  ordinary  calibre  to  grasp 
the  full  length,  breadth  and  depth  of  those  three  words, 
"  annual  is  over."  It  has  been  looming  up  before  us 
for  ten  months  ;  first  term,  'tis  true,  it  was  only  a  mist ; 
but  by  winter  it  had  settled  down  into  a  fog  ;  while  the 
hot  weather  finds  it  a  dense,  impenetrable  cloud. 

Last  week  I  said  to  myself,  "  this  time  next  Tues- 
day annual  will  be  over :"  and  yesterday  I  thought 
'  this  time  to-morrow  annual  will  be  over,'  and  last  night 
I  dreamed  that  every  question  in  Philosophy  was  "  ex- 
plain the  gyrometer,"  and  that  I  was  busy  flunking  them 
all,  when  with  a  start  I  woke  up,  and,  after  feeling 
the  bed-post  to  make  sure  that  it  was  only  a  dream, 
turned  over  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  murmuring  "  this  time 
to-morrow  annual  will  be  over." 

Yes.  The  Rubicon  is  passed,  and  I  stand  on  the 
steps  and  feel  the  cool  breeze  blowing  over  from  '  Di- 
vinity,' fanning  my  flushed  face,  and  remember  with 
quiet  satisfaction  that  flourish  at  the  bottom  of  the 
twelfth  page,  dwelling  with  pleasure  on  the  '  P.  S.'  in- 
serted in  the  left-hand  corner  : — 

"Prof.  Cramhard.  I  have  been  obliged  to  omit  the 
ngth  question  for  want  of  time." 


168  CLASS-ROOM   HUMORS. 

I  smile  internally,  and  pat  myself  metaphorically  on 
the  back,  and  think,  '  pretty  smart  thing  that,'  and  am 
immensely  disgusted  at  finding  out  afterwards  that  one 
hundred  and  twenty-three  out  of  one  hundred  and 
twenty-five  fellows  have  done  exactly  the  same  thing. 

I  glance  over  the  printed  paper  in  my  hand,  and  as 
my  eye  runs  over  a  score  or  two  of  questions  a  great 
'  4 '  seems  to  be  photographed  on  them  all  ;  but  I  stop 
at  No.  47  and  reflect.  I  believe  I  had  a  pretty  general 
idea  of  that  poser,  though  there  were  some  points  not 
altogether  clear,  and  after  all,  I  put  down  so  much  that 
Cramhard  will  have  to  get  a  double-action  telescope  to 
pick  out  what  I  didn't  know.  Well,  I'll  call  it  3:50 
any  how  ;  he  ought  to  take  it  for  granted  that  I  knew 
that  much." 

I  am  alone  outside  the  hall,  thoroughly  at  peace  with 
myself  and  the  world  in  general  ;  but  I  don't  for- 
get the  inquisition  in  full  blast  on  the  other  side  of 
those  oak  doors.  Will  I  ever  forget  the  look  of  an- 
guish on  poor  Sam  Crook's  face,  when  he  telegraphed 
over,  "  I  have  got  the  wrong  skinning-paper."  Poor 
Sam  !  he  hadn't  a  leg  to  stand  on  in  English  literature 
and  logic.  He  learned  short-hand  just  on  purpose  to 
bridge  this  difficulty.  He  had  worked  steadily  for  two 
days  and  nights  and  had  Shaw  and  Atwater  almost  ver- 
batim on  a  manuscript  edition  of  16  feet  by  i*£  inches, 
but  somehow  got  his  papers  mixed  and  brought  in  an 
abridged  '  Loomis's  Astronomy,'  by  mistake.  This  was 
even  worse  than  Tom  Evans' faux  fas  last  sophomore 
annual.  Tom  wrote  the  'Analytics  '  entire  on  his  shirt- 
cufls,  but  put  them  on  with  the  writing  inside.  This  he 
discovered  only  when  in  the  hall,  and  was  then  too 
much  scared  to  change  them,  flunking  dead  of  course. 
Tom  was  always  ready  to  swear  that  he  put  those  cuffs 


REFLECTIONS  ON  A  GREAT  BUGBEAR.  169 

on  right,  and  could  only  account  for  his  misfortune  on 
the  wild  hypothesis  that  the  ink  had  soaked  through  to 
the  inner  side. 

The  faces  inside  bending  over  those  cork  ink-stands 
may  be  divided  into  three  classes,  each  sharply  defined 
and  to  be  recognized  at  a  glance.  First,  the  man  who 
is  doing  well.  You  can  tell  him  by  his  fingers  at  once  ; 
the  first  two,  with  the  thumb,  being  well  bedaubed  with 
ink.  He  has  glanced  over  the  paper  ;  feels  sure  that  he 
can  strike  every  nail  square  on  the  head,  and  then  with 
the  rapidity  of  a  phonographer  turns  off  page  after  page. 
Of  two  evils  I  believe  I  would  prefer  the  lot  of  Tantalus 
rather  than  sit,  stuck  myself,  and  watch  this  man  mak- 
ing one  continued  spurt  from  alpha  to  omega.  Every 
individual  hair  seems  to  indicate  a  desire  to  stand  on 
end  and  cheer  ;  his  eyes  sparkle,  and  the  corners  of  his 
mouth  twitch  with  nervous  excitement ;  in  fact,  every 
feature,  muscle  and  ligament  seems  to  be  playing  on 
the  surface  of  an  invisible  chuckle,  and  each  to  be  say- 
ing in  his  own  way,  "  soft  thing." 

To  the  second  class  belongs  the  man  who  is  doing 
only  fairly.  He  has  looked  over  the  list  and  feels  that  he 
has  a  general  idea  of  most  of  the  questions,  can  write 
something  on  each  and  perhaps  come  very  near  the 
mark  on  two  or  three.  He  has  recognized  the  fact,  too, 
that  quantity  must  be  put  in  the  balance  against  qual- 
ity, and  that  good  penmanship  will  not  injure  his  case. 
This  task  of  writing  a  good  deal  and  of  doing  it  in 
good  style,  gives  class  No.  2  little  or  no  time  for  star- 
gazing. 

But  by  all  odds  the  man  most  thoroughly  interesting 
to  an  outside  observer,  and  most  wretchedly  miserable 
to  himself,  is  the  man  who  is  in  a  hopeless  and  desper- 
ate condition  oi  flunk.  On  ordinary  occasions,  this  gen- 


170  CLASS-ROOM   HUMORS. 

tleman  is  one  of  the  gayest  of  the  gay  ;  but  the  settled 
gloom  on  his  countenance  now,  the  suicidal  look  in  his 
eyes,  the  drooping  languor  of  his  legs  and  the  general 
appearance  of  goneness  mark  an  eclipse  in  the  sunshine 
of  his  joys,  an  eclipse  total  and  annual,  though  not, 
thank  fortune,  perpetual  ;  for  this  little  trouble  will  soon 
roll  away  from  the  disc  of  his  happiness  and  before 
long  he  will  be  shining  again  on  his  friends,  just  as 
though  yearly  overhaulings  were  myths. 

This  third  class  may,  I  think,  be  subdivided  into 
two.  Of  one  of  these  is  the  man  who  feels  that  the 
waters  are  about  his  eyes  and  ears,  but  still  hopes  on, 
and  looks  out  for  straws.  He  is  nervous  and  uneasy 
while  keeping  a  close  watch  on  the  four  guardians  of 
scholastic  virtue.  He  attempts  at  unobserved  intervals 
to  establish  communication  with  his  neighbors,  or  goes 
up  to  the  water-cooler,  hoping  to  meet  a  sympathizing 
and  posted  friend  there,  with  the  possibility  of  getting 
a  glimpse  at  something  valuable  on  the  way  back,  or,  as 
a  dernier  resort,  he  assails,  with  fulsome  smile,  the 
tutor's  rostrum,  thinking  that  perhaps  he  may  glean  a 
grain  of  information  by  asking  an  explanation  of  some 
question. 

Flunkist  No.  2  is  a  conscientious  young  man.  He 
belongs  perhaps,  to  a  Mission  Sunday  School,  or  may 
have  been  a  prominent  church-deacon,  and,  of  course, 
has  no  skinning-papers.  He  crammed  up  some  odd 
places  and  came  in  hoping  to  get  two  or  three  of  them  ; 
but  alas  !  not  one  familiar  resting-spot  meets  his  anx- 
ious eyes,  and  for  two  and  a  half  hours  we  have  a  pict- 
ure of  despair  to  be  found  nowhere  outside  of  Dante's 
"  Inferno."  If  Whittier  had  passed  through  the  course 
here,  his  idea  of  sadness  would  have  been  materially 


REFLECTIONS  ON  A  GREAT  BUGBEAR.       I?! 

changed,  and  his  renowned  couplet  would  perhaps  read 
somewhat  thus : 

"  Of  all  sad  words,  except  dead  drunk, 
"  The  saddest  are  the  words  dead  flunk." 

But  why  should  I  stand  on  Alumni  steps  contemplat- 
ing horrors?  School's  closed,  let's  be  off;  and  I  am 
just  about  to  move  down  the  path  when  the  door  is 
hastily  opened,  and  out  rushes  a  frantic  youth.  I  rec- 
ognize a  fellow  divisioner  and  greet  him  with  "  Ah, 
Bill,  how  did  you  get  through?"  "  Magnificently  !  never 
did  better  in  my  life  !  dead  rush  !"  I  receive  this  state- 
ment cum  a  considerable  grano,  for  William  has  never 
been  found  guilty  of  even  approximating  to  a  perfect 
recitation.  And  here  let  me  offer  incidentally  this 
piece  of  advice  to  the  uninitiated.  Don't  believe  a  man 
who,  within  five  minutes  of  getting  out,  says  he  has 
made  a  dead  rush ;  the  chances  are  twenty-five  to  one 
that  he  will  take  two  for  his  mark  before  an  hour  has 
passed. 

I  move  on,  and  the  first  shadow  shows  that  the 
chapel  is  near  by.  O  ghosts  of  broken  slumbers  !  O 
ghosts  of  unfinished  breakfasts  !  O  ghosts  of  empty 
stomachs  !  requiescatis  in  pace.  For  two  whole  months 
the  echoing  footsteps  of  no  belated  pilgrims  will  be 
heard  along  the  aisles  of  this  lofty  edifice.  For  two 
whole  months  thy  downy  cushions  will  be  unpressed. 
Late-rising  students  no  longer  bend  reverentially  over 
half-conned  lessons.  Freshmen  shake  not  with  the 
"pons  asinorum "  before  them.  No  ghastly  monitor 
puts  on  a  sickly  smile  when  he  sees  a  four-seated  pew 
with  only  three  in  it.  The  choir  in  the  dark  recess 
sings  no  longer  its  unearthly  but  harmonious  strains. 
Fair  woman  from  above  no  more  looks  down  on  frail 
and  sleeping  below 


172  CLASS-ROOM   HUMORS. 

I  had  got  thus  far,  musing  sweetly,  when  an  ebb 
tide  of  liberated  co-laborers  seized  me  with  "  I  say, 
Jack,  what  answer  did  you  get  for  the  i6th?"  Another 
calls  out,  "Is  the  I4th  ablative  of  cause  or  means?" 
While  still  another  voice  is  heard,  high  over  all,  crying 
out  "  I  say,  Jack,  is  regerent  sentiment  of  another  or 
essential-part?"  I  have  no  wax  with  me,  so  I  put 
my  fingers  in  my  ears,  put  on  a  soft  non-committal 
smile,  nod  wildly  yes  and  wait  till  these  syrens  float 
away.  Experience  taught  me  this  dodge.  When  I 
was  young  I  used  sometimes  to  differ  from  my  ques- 
tioners and  always  had  the  pleasure  of  being  informed 
that  I  was  most  assuredly  in  the  wrong.  Another  good 
expedient  is  to  rush  from  Alumni  hall  directly  to 
your  room  and  lock  yourself  up  for  about  fifteen  min- 
utes. This  you  will  generally  find  long  enough  to  do 
the  business.  Some  fellows,  however,  will  keep  up  the 
cross-questioning  for  an  hour  or  more.  Of  this  class 
was  John  Z.  who  used  to  bore  the  club  so  much  with 
his  questions  that  they  decided  on  giving  him  a  lesson. 
One,  day,  after  a  mathematical  examination,  John  rush- 
ing into  dinner,  crying  out  "  I  say,  fellows,  is  the  fourth 
R  cos  X  or  R  sine  X  ?"  Everyone  instantly  stopped 

talking.  Amid  a  death-like  stillness  Dick  B arose 

and  said  :  "  Let  me  inform  you,  Mr.  Z.,  that  the  exami- 
nation in  Trigonometry  closed  at  twelve  precisely,  and 
that  it  is  now  quarter  past  one — roast  beef,  Mary,  rare, 
if  you  please." 

I  drift  on  lazily  and  am  soon  behind  the  Lyceum. 
O  how  cool  this  breeze  feels,  when  I  think  of  those 
hot  summer  afternoons  in_Prex/s  lecture  room,  and  I 
say  to  myself,  what  a  wonderful  creature  man  is,  re- 
membering how  I  could  snooze  delightfully  through 
all  those  Greek  lectures  and  at  the  end  be  able  to  tell 


REFLECTIONS   ON   A   GREAT   BUGBEAR.  173 

all  about  Platea  and  Epidamnus  and  the  twenty-nine 
causes  that  made  Themistocles  such  a  remarkable  his- 
torian. 

I  don't  remember  doing  much  in  the  Morpheus  line, 
however,  in  the  room  directly  overhead.  In  fact,  the 
division  needed  all  its  eyes  and  ears  to  keep  posted 
on  what  was  coming.  Well,  that's  all  over  now.  '  Why 
so  ?'  '  More  accurately.'  '  And  the  name  is  ?'  are  to  us  only 
echoes  past.  The  transit  was  correctly  adjusted,  and 
we  have  passed  over  the  meridian.  May  the  compound 
of  'nodes,'  '  evection,'  'dips,'  'meridians,'  'librations,' 
etc.,  etc.,  go  to  the  right  spot  and  find  a  resting-place 
there. 

I  go  up  stairs  to  my  room  ;  there  lies  a  book  on  the 
table  open  at  that  tough  place  over  which  I  spent  an 
hour  and  a  half  and  which  of  course  we  didn't  have. 
I  swear  I  never  will  cram  again  ;  I  shut  the  book  and 
put  it  away  ;  I  give  my  sweep  a  dollar,  I  tell  Fine  Day 
that  I  have  some  old  clothes,  I  go  over  to  the  fence  and 
shake  hands  with  everybody,  and  then  I  go  to  dinner. 


THE  pile  of  examination-papers  is  nearly  exhausted. 
To-morrow  the  bottom  of  the  chest  that  has  guarded 
them  so  carefully  will  be  reached  ;  the  last  manuscript 
will  be  handed  in,  and  Alumni  Hall  will  be  cleared  for 
more  joyous  scenes.  Day  by  day  for  the  past  two  weeks 
we  have  pumped  our  heads  full,  only  to  enter  that  hall 
and  have  them  pumped  empty  again,  and  now  the 
respite  comes  just  in  time,  for  the  pump  has  given 
signs  of  failing,  and  the  reservoir  is  leaking  badly. 

In  respect  to  these  examinations  I  find  there  is  every- 
thing in  getting  used  to  them.  The  first  time  I  ap- 
proached that  hall  it  was  with  some  such  feeling  as  that 
with  which  I  used  to  walk  up  to  my  mother  when  I  had 
been  in  swimming  contrary  to  orders.  That  great 
yawning  doorway  at  which  I  have  since  seen  children 
and  ladies  shudder,  seemed  to  open  its  jaws  for  me. 
How  I  wished  that  one  of  the  stones  from  that  gloomy 
archway  might  fall  on  me.  There  is  a  good  quotation 
somewhere  about  calling  on  the  mountains  to  fall  on 
us  and  the  hills  to  crush  us,  which  illustrates  my  feel- 
ings, but  which  I  cannot  quite  recall.  Perhaps  you  re- 
member it.  Since  that  day,  having  grown  in  years  and 
discretion,  I  have  grown  bolder.  After  a  few  nervous 
twitchings  of  the  pump-handle,  and  a  consciousness 
that  a  new  leak  has  burst  out  in  your  reservoir,  you 
leave  your  room  and  join  your  classmates  before  that 
yawning  door,  as  the  hour  for  examination  approaches. 


EXAMINATIONS.  175 

You  are  not  much  encouraged  by  the  subdued  air 
which  pervades  the  crowd,  think  the  assembly  is  a  little 
too  funereal  in  its  aspect  and  try  to  crack  a  joke — 
a  laudable  enterprise,  but  fruitless.  You  have  un- 
doubtedly noticed  that  the  man  who  opens  the  door  to 
admit  you,  always  stations  himself  in  the  doorway,  and 
looks  pensive  and  sad — but  it  is  only  done  for  a  scare. 
The  inside  of  the  hall  appears  at  first  sight  as  if  orna- 
mented with  a  view  to  holding  therein  a  congress  of 
nations.  As  you  gaze  around  upon  the  "Arms  of  the 
States  of  the  American  Union  "  and  the  portraits  of  the 
great  men  who  have  gone  before  you,  you  feel  as  Napo- 
leon's soldiers  felt  in  the  presence  of  the  Egyptian 
pyramids — "  that  centuries  are  looking  down  upon 
you."  There  is  nothing  lacking  to  inspire  you,  and 
with  the  arms  of  your  state  above  your  head,  and  the 
legs  of  a  rickety  chair  beneath  you,  you  boldly  determine 
to  rush  or — flunk. 

How  still  everything  is  !  The  guards  who  are  ap- 
pointed over  you  are  as  silent  as  the  grave  as  they 
distribute  the  bills-of-fare  for  this  feast  of  reason  and 
flow  of  sweat.  And  now  there  is  a  thundering  at  the 
door  by  some  foolish  fellow  who  has  waited  to  fill  his 
lamp  and  "  crib  "  a  few  points  on  his  cuffs.  The  guards 
stand  unmoved  at  the  four  sides  of  the  room,  grave  and 
gloomy ;  silence  again  reigns,  and  naught  is  heard  but 
the  scratching  of  pens  and  a  few  suppressed  sighs.  If 
you  sit  on  a  back  seat  and  don't  want  to  devote  yourself 
too  hard  to  your  paper,  you  find  yourself  splendidly 
situated  to  exercise  your  judgment  in  what  constitutes 
a  boating  man.  Such  an  assortment  of  backs  was  never 
seen  in  one  collection  before — in  all  degrees  of  curva- 
ture from  the  start  to  the  finish  of  a  stroke.  You  long 
for  a  sight  of  a  tutor's  back,  but  they  all  stand  or  sit 


176  CLASS-ROOM  HUMORS. 

with  backs  firmly  planted  against  the  wall,  and  nothing 
visible  but  eyes. 

And  now  you  are  wondering  what  that  cross  made 
with  chalk  upon  the  floor  under  your  table  is,  thinking 
that  the  cross  you  are  bearing  now  is  heavy  enough 
without  an  additional  one,  and  reading  the  names  of 
others  who  have  sat  at  the  same  table  and  left  their 
autographs  there  ;  when  suddenly  you  find  that  in  a 
few  minutes  the  two  hours  and  a  quarter  will  be  up 
and  you  are  bound  to  be  out  among  the  first.  Now 
you  go  to  work  in  earnest,  every  once  in  a  while  jump- 
ing up  to  gaze  at  the  only  friendly  face  in  the  room, 
that  of  the  clock.  There  is  one  question  you  cannot 
answer,  and  you  know  your  right  hand  neighbor  can,  so 
you  gently  ask  him  to  confide.  But  he  isn't  confid- 
ing as  much  as  he  was  when  he  wanted  to  borrow  your 
"  Harper"  to  cram  up  on,  and  only  scowls  and  spoils 
his  boating  back  by  humping  it.  The  man  on  your  left 
knows  you  have  an  answer  which  he  cannot  get,  and 
asks  you  for  it.  You  were  well  brought  up  and  learned 
the  golden  rule  long  ago,  and  so  you  only  scowl  and 
hump  your  back.  Then  you  take  your  "  Rules  for  Ex- 
amination "  out  of  your  pocket  and  significantly  point  out 
to  him  rule  10  :  "  All  communication  between  students 
during  examination  is  strictly  forbidden,"  and  indicate 
by  words  and  winks  that  you'll  tell  him  all  about  that 
question  when  you  get  outside,  for  which  he  gratefully 
curses  you.  The  two  hours  and  a  quarter  are  passed  at 
last,  and  one  of  the  gloomy  guards  rises,  and  in  sepul- 
chral tones  proclaims  :  "  Those  who  have  completed 
their  work  may  hand  it  in  and  be  excused.  The  next 
examination  will  take  place  on  Tuesday  morning  at  9 
o'clock  on  the  Greek  of  the  first  two  terms,"  and  his 
voice  sounded  so  much  like  that  of  a  judge  passing 


EXAMINATIONS.  177 

sentence  of  death  that  you  almost  expected  him  to  say, 
"  and  be  hanged  by  the  neck  until  you  are  dead,  dead, 
dead  ! " 

You  hand  in  your  papers  and  depart,  and  the  first 
comforting  news  you  hear  after  coming  out  is  that  the 
University  nine  has  been  awfully  whipped.  You  are 
glad  .now  that  annuals  kept  you  from  witnessing  the 
game.  Of  course  you  "  rushed,"  or  if  you  didn't,  you 
don't  tell  anybody  about  it,  and  are  glad  to  have  es- 
caped. And  now  the  last  man  is  out,  you  have  com- 
pared answers  and  found  out  your  mistakes,  have  shown 
your  left  hand  neighbor  what  the  proper  answer  to  his 
question  is  ;  and  now  the  gloomy  man,  with  a  pile  of 
manuscripts  under  his  arm,  is  closing  that  gloomy  door, 
and  soon  that  archway  will  be  frowning  down  upon 
passers-by.  Soon  it  will  smile  for  a  brief  week  on 
those  whom  it  has  terrified  in  days  gone  by,  and  then 
will  frown  again  on  the  "candidates  for  admission,  four 
abreast." 


SUgebra. 

COMPLAINT  is  sometimes  made  that  in  the  teaching 
given  at  Yale  the  aesthetic  side  of  studies  is  neglected  : 
e.  g.  that  in  the  reading  of  Greek  and  Latin  texts,  the 
structure  of  the  language  is  attended  to  and  the  thoughts 
of  the  authors  disregarded.  The  complaint  seems  to  me 
partly  just  and  in  this  article  I  will  sketch  out  a  plan  by 
which  the  study  of  Algebra,  for  example,  might  be  made 
not  only  to  sharpen  the  reason  but  to  train  the  critical 
faculties  and  elevate  the  human  soul.  Professor  Pack- 
ard once  told  his  class  that  the  curriculum  had  made  no 
provision  for  the  culture  of  imagination.  How  much 
might  be  done  in  that  way,  even  in  pure  mathematics,  by 
a  proper  mode  of  treatment,  will  be  seen  perhaps  from 
the  following  outlines  of  a  cours. 

A  late  ingenious  writer  has  tried  to  show  that  the  false 
science  of  alchemy  was  only  a  covert  way  of  expressing 
by  means  of  a  symbolism,  truths  in  moral  and  political 
philosophy  which  it  would  have  been  unsafe  in  the  Mid- 
dle Ages  to  maintain  openly.  An  analytical  study  of 
Algebra  will  develop  the  fact  that  underlying  its  artifi- 
cial symbolism,  its  alphabetical  triflings,  its  obscure,  and 
too  many  meaningless  formulae,  there  lies  a  life-drama 
of  dark  and  stormy  passions — a  tale  of  fate,  of  crime,  of 
temptation  and  fall.  It  will  be  remembered  that  the 
science  is  of  oriental,  of  Arabian  origin.  The  oriental 
mind  takes  pleasure  in  mystic  and  figurative  methods  of 
expression  and  it  may  well  be,  that  this  method  has  been 


ANALYTICAL  ALGEBRA.  179 

taken  of  preserving  under  the  forms  of  a  language  whose 
true  import  is  revealed  to  a  few  choice  spirits  in  every 
age,  one  of  that  body  of  legends  almost  coeval  with  the 
race — the  folklore  of  the  East.  It  is  a  tale  of  the  triumph 
of  the  strong  over  the  weak  ;  the  evil  over  the  good  ;  the 
tempter  over  the  tempted  ;  the  Mephistopheles  over  the 
Faust. 

It  will  be  seen  that  among  the  different  writers  who 
have  treated  the  subject,  under  some  minor  differences 
of  style  and  statement,  there  is  a  general  agreement  as 
to  the  relative  position  of  the  two  central  personages  of 
the  drama — the  characters  of  A  and  B.  What  this  rela- 
tion exactly  is,  it  is  impossible  to  say.  It  is  usually  in- 
dicated numerically.  Sometimes  it  is  expressed  in 
terms  of  the  mysterious  and  unknown  quantity  x  which 
the  reader  is  always  requested  to  find,  but  which  if 
found  at  all  (which  is  rarely  the  case)  resolves  itself  into 
some  number  as  baffling  to  the  curiosity  as  the  number 
of  the  Beast  in  Revelations.  What  light  does  it  shed  on 
x  to  discover  that  x=\%  or  that  x=  |/2na?  Then,  too,  x 
is  usually  variable,  sometimes  infinite,  not  seldom  imag- 
inary or  absurd.  It  has  indeed  been  directly  asserted 
that  the  relation  of  A  to  B  was  as/  to/':  but  what  was 
pi  what  was  p'?  The  clue  to  this  cipher  is  certainly 
far  from  ascertained. 

For  these  reasons  it  is  advisable  in  the  aesthetic  study 
of  Algebra  to  neglect  the  long  pages  of  statistics  or 
figurative  matter  which  form  the  bulk  of  most  treatises. 
They  shed  no  light  on  our  researches.  It  is  only  in  the 
problems  or  what  may  be  called  the  letter-press  of  the 
work  that  I  find  any  consistent  and  rational  statements 
about  A  and  B.  Even  here  the  cautious  and  singularly 
non-committal  manner  of  the  historian  leaves  much  un- 
told. Algebra  may  be  called  like  Rhetoric  "a  science 


l8o  CLASS-ROOM   HUMORS. 

of  hints  and  suggestions  " — or  better  a  science  of  puz- 
zles and  riddles.  The  Sphinxy  chronicler  makes  a 
guarded  statement  and  then  suddenly  asks  a  question 
which  often  seems  to  have  no  connection  at  all  with  the 
previous  statement.  Almost  every  sentence  ends  with 
an  interrogation-point. 

From  these  materials,  however,  meagre  as  they  are, 
the  following  general  results  may  be  gained  as  to  the 
character  and  relations  of  A  and  B.  B  is  the  hero  of 
the  drama.  He  seems  to  be  a  man  of  fine  feeling,  of  a 
generous  and  social,  open  and  confiding  nature,  but  of 
a  weak  will  and  easily  influenced.  I  find  him  with  a 
kind  of  humorous  benevolence  repeatedly  distributing 
coppers  in  geometrical  progression  to  the  poor.  He 
seems  to  be  the  careless  and  good-humored  gentleman 
referred  to  by  Mr.  Todhunter  on  page  208  of  his  Algebra. 
"A  gentleman  sends  a  lad  into  the  market  to  buy  a 
shilling's  worth  of  oranges.  The  lad  having  eaten  a 
couple,  the  gentleman  pays  at  the  rate  of  a  penny  for 
fifteen  more  than  the  market  price,"  &c.  His  easy 
credulity  and  recklessness  seem  to  have  led  him  into 
extravagance  and  folly.  I  find  him  speculating  in  city 
real  estate,  investing  x  dollars  in  rectangular  lots  con- 
taining m  square  feet.  He  seems  to  have  fallen  in  with 
the  sporting  ring  and  to  have  run  around  islands  on 
a  wagon — always  losing  ;  to  have  invested  in  lotteries — 
always  drawing  blanks  :  the  chances  of  his  drawing  a 
prize  being  usually,  represented  as  n  :  m — no  doubt 
ridiculously  small. 

On  the  other  hand  A  the  lago,  the  Mephistopheles, 
the  devil  of  the  plot,  is  painted  as  a  man  of  a  secret,  re- 
served, and  tortuous  mind.  Contrast  the  open-hearted, 
unsuspecting  frankness  of  B  with  the  shuffling  evasion 
of  A's  answers  to  the  simplest  question.  Thus  A  being 


ANALYTICAL  ALGEBRA.  l8l 

asked  by  B  how  old  he  is  replies,  "  tn  times  the  cube  of 
C's  age=j;  of  the  square  root  of  my  own."  Whenever 
A  and  B  are  brought  into  contact,  the  former  is  repre- 
sented as  the  superior  in  mental  and  bodily  strength. 
In  these  numerous  and  mysterious  trips  which  they  are 
perpetually  taking  between  two  places  distant  x  miles 
from  each  other  A  always  accomplishes  the  journey  in 
one  wth  of  the  time  that  B  does.  A  always  performs 
with  ease  in  the  incredibly  short  period  of  n  days  that 
piece  of  work  which  the  indolent  B  requires  fully  m  days 
to  complete.  At  an  early  period  in  their  history  A 
seems  to  have  laid  B  under  some  dreadful  obligation  or 
to  have  discovered  some  terrible  secret  which  places  the 
latter  wholly  in  his  power.  The  power  thus  obtained 
he  uses  with  remorseless  cruelty.  He  persuades  B  to 
invest  his  money  in  partnerships  when  B  contributes  m 
dollars  to  A's  n.  He  extorts  hush-money  from  him  in 
sums  of  500,  looo,  nay,  even^  dollars  !  With  a  fiendish 
humor  he  pretends  to  regard  these  installments  of  black- 
mail as  loans — loans  of  pure  accommodation  for  t  months 
and  at  r  per  cent,  interest — of  course  never  paid. 

What  the  secret  of  this  influence  was  I  cannot  say. 
Was  there  a  women  in  the  case  ?  There  is  something  in 
the  character  of  C  —  a  personage  occasionally  intro- 
duced, which  leads  to  the  suspicion  that  she  was  a 
woman.  Thus  on  page  474  of  Todhunter  we  are  told 
"  It  is  3  to  i  that  A  speaks  truth,  6  to  i  that  B  does,  and 
i  to  3  that  C  does.  What  is  the  probability  that  an 
event  took  place  which  A  asserts  to  have  happened,  and 
which  B  and  C  deny?"  Three  conclusions  seem  to  be 
justified  by  this  statement. 

ist.  The  remarkable  natural  deceitfulness  of  C  points 
not  doubtfully  to  her  sex. 

2d.     B  appears  by  this  time  to  have  become  involved 


l82  CLASS-ROOM   HUMORS. 

in  a  train  of  prevarications  made  necessary  perhaps  by 
his  attempts  to  conceal  the  secret  referred  to,  and  to 
have  lost  a  portion  of  his  natural  truthfulness. 

"  O  what  a  tangled  web  we  weave 
When  first  we  practice  to  deceive." 

But  even  so,  his  word  is  more  to  be  trusted  than  the 
organic  duplicity  of  A. 

3d.  The  above  problem  seems  to  have  presented 
itself  to  the  mind  of  B  while  endeavoring  to  free  himself 
from  the  toils  of  A.  He  reflects  whether  his  own  words 
coupled  with  that  of  C  may  outweigh  (possibly  in  a 
Court  of  Justice)  the  unsupported  testimony  of  A.  He 
is  tempted  to  cast  off  the  thraldom  and  boldly  deny  the 
"  event "  obscurely  alluded  to,  which  can  be  no  other 
than  the  terrible,  possibly  guilty,  secret  which  A  uses  to 
his  destruction. 

If  any  such  plan  of  relief  presents  itself  to  his  mind, 
he  is  too  weak  to  carry  it  out.  He  falls  more  and  more 
hopelessly  into  the  toils  and  struggles  less  and  less. 
The  malign  influence  of  A  becomes  strongest  as  the 
drama  sweeps  to  its  catastrophe.  B  invests  with  in- 
creasing recklessness  in  the  lots  and  lotteries.  He 
probably  also  takes  to  drink,  for  we  read  of  "  hogsheads, 
one  of  wine  and  one  of  beer,  for  cubical  contents  as 
;«,  n,  and  exhausted  respectively  at  the  rate  of  x  and  y 
quarts  per  diem." 

Towards  the  close  of  his  melancholy  career,  A  gets 
him  into  gambling.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  he  is  no 
match  for  the  latter.  The  chapter  on  "probability"  is 
nothing  more  or  less  than  an  account  of  his  losses  at 
cards  and  dice  to  the  Hon.  Ducease.  Thus  on  page 
468,  problem  27,  "  two  persons  A,  and  B,  engage  in  a 
game  in  which  A's  skill  is  to  B's  as  3  to  2.  Find  the 


ANALYTICAL  ALGEBRA.  183 

chance  of  A's  winning  at  least  3  games  out  of  5."  Some- 
times there  seems  to  be  a  pool  in  which  several  engage, 
— possibly  one  D,  a  character  who  appears  but  seldom, 
and  seems  to  be  a  tool  of  A's — was  present  among 
others.  On  page  470  we  have  a  description  of  one  of 
these  friendly  games.  "  In  a  bag  are  «  balls  of  m  colors, 
/  being  the  first  color,  pi  of  the  second  color  *  *  * 
*  *  pm  of  the  wth  color.  If  the  balls  be  drawn  out 
one  by  one,  what  is  the  chance  that  all  the  balls  of  the 
first  color  will  be  drawn,  &c.?" 

The  catastrophe  of  the  drama  is  shrouded  in  impene- 
trable night.  What  was  the  fate  of  A,  of  B,  of  C,  of  all 
the  rest  of  the  alphabet,  including  old  Izzard,  "  that  gray 
haired  man  of  glee?"  I  cannot  say:  but  enough  has 
been  done  towards  resolving  the  enigma  to  show  how 
much  would  be  accomplished  by  a  critical  study  of 
Algebra  in  its  aesthetic  relations,  disregarding  those 
tables  of  meaningless  signs  and  formulae  which  are 
made  the  sole  object  of  study  under  the  present  false, 
disciplinary  system. 

"The  limits  of  this  introduction,"  as  Mr.  Buckle 
would  say,  forbid  me  to  do  more  than  indicate  how 
valuable  the  same  method  of  treatment  would  be  if  em- 
ployed, for  instance,  on  that  graceful  work  of  fiction, 
"  Arnold's  Latin  Prose  Composition."  Balbus,  Caius, 
and  even  Titus  Manlinus,  the  nobilissimus  juvenus, 
would  be  no  longer  mere  pegs  to  hang  instructors  upon, 
but  living,  breathing  souls  like  the  generous,  the  gentle, 
but  alas  the  unhappy  and  fallen  B. 


JJalbns. 

POSSIBLY  some  few  of  my  readers  may  have  chanced, 
while  exploring  the  musty  recesses  of  Hoadley's  or 
Richmond's,  to  discover  a  copy  of  a  quaint  old  book 
entitled  "Arnold's  Latin  Prose  Composition."  If  a 
love  of  antiquarian  research  led  them,  as  it  did  me, 
to  examine  the  contents  of  this  venerable  volume,  they 
found  that,  like  a  dictionary,  it  is  mainly  composed  of 
short  paragraphs  and  sentences,  very  interesting  in 
themselves,  but  remarkably  disconnected. 

Passing  over  all  discussion  of  the  probable  author- 
ship, date  and  purpose  of  this  book,  and  only  noting 
that  internal  evidence  indicates  that  the  various  events 
which  it  narrates  took  place  not  very  far  from  the  com- 
mencement of  the  Christian  era,  I  would  ask  your 
attention  to  the  sentences,  some  of  which  may  be  shown, 
I  think,  by  a  judicious  use  of  the  critical  and  imagina- 
tive powers,  to  contain  many  interesting  allusions  to 
college  life  2000  years  ago.  The  sentences  which  I 
have  culled  out  for  this  purpose  all  seem  to  have  been 
extracted  from  the  private  journal  of  a  collegian  of  that 
period.  In  them  appear  four  principal  dramatis  per- 
sonae  :  I,  the  writer  of  the  journal  ;  You,  a  most  yousful 
personage  ;  Balbus,  whom,  for  want  of  a  better,  may  be 
called  the  hero  :  Caius,  a  rival  of  Balbus  ;  also,  He, 
Him,  They,  Them,  Some,  &c.,  "attendants,  soldiers, 
&c." 

The  early  life  of  these  collegians  is  wrapped  in  the 


BALBUS.  185 

most  profound  obscurity.  We  may  conjecture  that  they 
were  born  early  in  life  of  poor,  but  dishonest  parents  ; 
that  they  spent  the  days  of  their  boyhood  in  driving  the 
hens  to  water,  milking  the  dogs,  and  other  rustic  occu- 
pations ;  that  they  were  "  birched "  at  the  common 
schools,  and  "rebelled"  at  the  academies;  and  that 
they  got  blue-papers  at  the  examination  for  entrance  to 
college  ;  but  all  this  is  mere  conjecture,  for  we  receive 
no  information  concerning  them  until  they  are  fairly  in 
college.  Their  relations  to  each  other  in  college  are 
more  or  less  clearly  indicated  by  the  sentences  which  I 
shall  quote,  from  which  it  seems  probable  that  Balbus, 
Caius  and  You  were  all  in  the  same  class,  while  I  was  in 
the  class  above  them  ;  that  I  was,  at  first,  the  special 
patron  of  Balbus  and  You,  though  afterward  taking  up 
Caius  in  place  of  Balbus  ;  that  Balbus  and  Caius  were 
the  leading  men  in  the  rival  Freshman  societies  ;  and 
that  You  was,  at  first,  the  fast  friend  of  Balbus,  probably 
his  chum,  but  afterward  became  alienated  from  him. 
Accepting  as  true  these  supposed  relations  of  our  ancient 
collegians,  we  shall  easily  understand  the  various 
glimpses  of  their  college  life  afforded  by  the  sentences, 
which,  by  the  way,  it  will  be  best  to  take  up  as  nearly 
as  possible,  though  by  no  means  arranged,  in  chrono- 
logical order. 

The  average  age  of  entering  college  was  probably 
about  the  same  as  now,  for  we  find  "  It  is  certain  that 
Caius  served  his  first  campaign  at  the  age  of  18."  Of 
course  this  was  the  Freshman  campaign ;  hence,  he 
must  have  entered  when  about  17.  An  allusion  to 
initiation  into  Freshman  societies  is  undoubtedly  con- 
tained in  the  question,  "  Was  not  Caius  within  a  very 
little  of  being  killed  ?"  From  this  it  seems  that  these 
initiations  were  as  cruel  and  barbarous  then  as  now. 


1 86  CLASS-ROOM   HUMORS. 

Doubtless  our  friends  were  soon  visited  by  certain  very 
polite  upper-class  men  ;  for  we  find  it  recorded,  "  They 
said  that  Caius  would  give  if  he  had  anything,"  which 
clearly  proves  that  the  fascinating  and  alluring  sport  of 
getting  subscriptions  was  in  full  blast  then,  and  prob- 
ably it  ruined  many  a  fine  fellow,  even  as  it  does  to- 
day. 

As  "  Caius  was  more  brave  than  prudent,"  (i.  e.  he 
was  rash,)  he  incurred  that  dread  penalty,  a  letter  home, 
early  in  Freshman  year.  We  can  imagine  his  division 
officer  thus  addressing  him  :  "  Mr.  Caius,  I  am  deeply 
grieved  to  inform  you  that  you  have  received  sixteen 
marks,  and  that  therefore  the  painful  duty  devolves 
upon  me  of  sending  a  letter  home  to  your  father." 
Yalensians  alone  can  imagine  his  wild  anguish  as  he 
heard  these  words  and  thought  of  bis  father's  grey 
hairs  brought  down  in  sorrow  to  the  grave  ;  they  will 
not  wonder  that,  nerved  by  despair,  he  went  to  the 
P.  O.  and,  by  putting  an  oyster  fry  and  a  bottle  of 
Falernian  "  where  they  would  do  the  most  good,"  got 
possession  of  the  blighting  epistle  before  it  started  on 
its  dread  mission.  But,  on  reading  it,  the  contents  did 
not  appear  so  very  dreadful,  and  the  ingenuous  youth 
shrank  from  deceiving  both  his  loved  instructor  and 
his  venerable  sire.  Hence  the  determination  which  I 
records :  "  Caius  is  going  to  send  a  copy  of  the  letter 
to  his  father ;"  doubtless  keeping  the  original  for 
memorabil. 

Freshmen  seem  to  have  been  as  conceited  in  their 
ignorance  then  as  now,  for  we  find  I  endeavoring  to 
take  his  friends  down  a  little,  by  assuring  them,  "  Both 
You  and  Balbus  are  ignorant  of  many  things."  But  a 
little  later  we  read  :  "  It  cannot  be  denied  that  Balbus 
seems  wise  to  many  persons  ;"  implying  thereby  that  he 


BALBUS.  187 

had  acquired  the  art,  not  yet  wholly  lost,  of  taking  a 
good  stand  with  a  very  small  acquirement  of  knowledge. 
He  seems  to  have  plunged  at  once  into  college  politics, 
and  to  have  bent  all  his  efforts  therein  to  carrying  out 
the  wishes  of  that  extremely  influential  friend  of  his  in 
the  class  above  him,  I.  And  with  success,  for  the  lat- 
ter asserts,  "  Balbus  has  deserved  well  of  me,"  with  the 
logical  conclusion,  "It  remains  that  I  should  assist 
Balbus."  Strange  as  it  may  seem  to  us,  in  those  days 
college  politicians  did  not  deem  it  necessary  to  keep 
their  word,  for  I  says,  "  Both  you  and  Balbus  have  ut- 
tered many  falsehoods  ;"  and,  though  declaring,  "  My 
friend  Balbus  has  more  influence  with  me  than  any 
other  person,"  he  asserts  "  I  shall  not  easily  believe 
Balbus."  But  Balbus'  willingness  to  toa — no,  to  please 
and  accommodate,  nearly  got  him  into  trouble  in  his 
own  class.  Some  questionable  transaction — perhaps  in 
the  Freshman  campaign — so  incensed  his  opponents, 
that  one  of  them,  perhaps  Caius  himself,  determined 
to  openly  accuse  him  of  treacherous  conduct ;  but 
his  faithful  chum,  You,  intervened  and,  either  by  his 
smoothness  of  tongue,  or  by  assuring  the  would-be 
accuser  that  his  contemplated  action  would  offend  that 
influential  upper-class  man,  I,  saved  Balbus  from  the 
threatened  danger  ;  a  service  which  I  thus  recognized  : 
"  It  was  owing  to  you  that  he  did  not  accuse  Balbus  of 
treachery." 

Thus  far,  everything  was  lovely  between  Balbus  and 
I,  and  I  unhesitatingly  upheld  Balbus  as  superior  to 
Caius,  asking  at  one  time,  "Which  is  the  wiser,  Caius 
or  Balbus?"  and  immediately  answering  his  own  ques- 
tion, "  There  is  no  doubt  that  Caius  is  nothing  com- 
pared to  Balbus."  At  another  time  he  admiringly  ex- 
claims, "  Is  there  any  man  who  can  be  compared  with 


l88  CLASS-ROOM   HUMORS. 

Balbus?"  Alas,  that  a  friendship  so  close,  so  disinter- 
ested, so  beatific  generally,  did  not  endure  !  Soon  I 
began  to  suspect  that  Balbus  was  no  longer  faithful  to 
him,  but  was  bent  on  some  scheme  of  private  aggran- 
dizement. "  Even  Balbus  is  not  averse  to  ambition," 
he  says,  and  adds  doubtfully,  "  I  am  afraid  I  do  not  see 
through  Balbus's  designs."  Soon  convinced  that  his 
suspicions  were  well  founded,  and  wishing  to  ascertain 
whether  You  considered  it  better  to  follow  Balbus  or 
himself,  he  cautiously  asked,  "  Do  you  envy  me  or  Bal- 
bus ?"  You  wisely  preferred  to  keep  the  good-will  of 
I,  and  the  two,  deserting  Balbus,  made  common  cause 
with  Caius,  to  whom  I  transferred  his  paternal  care  and 
advice,  thus  :  "  I  warned  Caius  whom  to  guard  against," 
and  "  I  will  warn  Caius  how  advantageous  it  is  to  keep 
one's  word."  Later  on,  we  find  I  asking,  "  Was  the 
funeral  pile  lighted  by  you  or  Balbus?"  which  shows 
that  the  change  in  the  relations  of  the  parties  must  have 
taken  place  before  the  burning  of  Euclid  in  Sophomore 
year,  I  wishing  to  know  which  of  the  now  rivals  had 
obtained  the  honor  of  applying  the  devouring  flame. 
So  hostile  had  the  once  chums  become,  that  they  came 
to  blows  once  at  least,  for  I  asserts,  "  Both  you  and 
Balbus  have  lifted  up  your  hands."  What  a  scene  for 
a  painter  !  Mill  between  Damon  and  Pythias  ! 

Probably  Balbus  now  made  some  declaration  of  his 
high-toned  determination  to  break  up  the  odious  sys- 
tem of  toadyism  which  prevailed.  Whatever  his  dodge 
was  to  win  popularity,  it  was  in  some  measure  success- 
ful, for  "  There  was  some  one  who  assisted  Balbus." 
These  co-reformers  braced  him  up,  it  seems,  for  "About 
all  of  them  visited  Balbus  ; '  Keep,'  said  they, '  your  word  ; 
finish  the  business  which  you  have  undertaken.' "  Thus 
supported,  it  might  have  been  dangerous  to  entirely 


BALBUS.  189 

overlook  him,  and  so  I  prudently  says,  "  I  will  enquire 
of  Caius  whether  Balbus  should  be  consulted  ;"  which 
enquiry  resulted  in  the  conclusion,  "  We  must  consult 
the  interests  of  Balbus."  But  ere  long  the  adherents  of 
Balbus  saw  that  they  were  on  the  losing  side,  and  so 
lessened  his  power  by  deserting  him,  that  his  interests 
demanded  little  consultation,  and  I  asks  contemptu- 
ously, "Is  not  anything  enough  for  Balbus?"  The  last 
mention  we  find  of  the  college  life  of  our  friends  shows 
that  Balbus  had,  by  some  means,  got  a  part  in  one  of 
the  plays  at  a  Thanksgiving  Jubilee,  most  probably  in 
his  Junior  year.  But  by  this  time  both  I  and  You 
thoroughly  disliked  and  despised  him,  and  in  spite  of 
their  former  friendship  for  him,  were  willing  to  see  him 
publicly  disgraced,  and  even  to  aid  in  disgracing  him. 
We  read,  "  I  will  make  no  objection  to  your  hissing  off 
the  stage  that  very  bad  actor,  Balbus  !" 

Poor  Balbus  !  Like  many  a  college  student  now-a- 
days,  he  started  in  his  course  most  brilliantly,  and 
seemed  destined  to  continue  throughout  as  he  had  be- 
gun, a  leading  man  in  the  class.  But  he  was  too  am- 
bitious, too  unscrupulous,  too  economical  of  the  truth  ; 
and  "  rising  like  a  rocket,  he  fell  like  a  stick." 


IMPEDIMENTA. 


Umbrella. 


IT  has  always  seemed  a  curious  thing  to  me  that 
funny  people  should  be  so  prone  to  jest  about  the  um- 
brella. The  child  Punchinello  made  his  bow  to  a  long- 
suffering  people  with  one  pocket  stuffed  full  of  this 
sort  of  gossip,  ending  with  a  "  to  be  continued."  I  sup- 
pose he  did  this  in  order  to  establish  his  claim  to  be 
considered  one  of  the  funny  fellows.  Now  I  have 
often  puzzled  myself  in  trying  to  find  out  the  reason  of 
this.  I  have  asked  myself  if  it  were  occasioned  by  the 
peculiar  shape  of  the  umbrella  —  by  its  diminutiveness 
in  fair  weather  and  its  bulk  in  stormy  weather  —  by  the 
character  of  its  materials  —  by  the  uses  to  which  it  was 
put  —  by  its  migratory  tendencies  ;  —  but  in  every  in- 
stance I  have  failed  to  solve  the  riddle.  So  far  as  I 
could  see,  there  was  nothing  funny  in  the  umbrella  it- 
self nor  in  its  relations.  Indeed,  as  I  have  become  bet- 
ter acquainted  with  the  article  in  question,  I  have  found 
very  many  things  about  it  calculated  to  produce  sober- 
ness if  not  sadness.  And  especially  has  this  been  the 
case  since  I  have  been  in  college. 

If  you  ever  observed  the  advent  of  an  incoming  class, 
you  have  probably  noticed  that  each  member  comes  pro- 
vided with  a  new  umbrella.  The  carefulness  of  a  mother 
is  as  sure  to  provide  this  protection  for  her  boy,  physi- 
cally, as  the  Bible  in  his  trunk  for  his  protection,  mor- 
ally. In  this  way  the  supply  of  college  umbrellas  is 
kept  up.  Of  course,  a  professional  wit  would  extract 
7 


IQ4  IMPEDIMENTA. 

much  matter  for  laughter  out  of  this.  But  it  does  not 
strike  me  in  that  fashion.  Consider,  in  the  first  place,  the 
amount  of  misplaced  confidence  on  the  part  of  parents, 
which  is  utterly  destroyed  in  this  process.  To  be  sure, 
some  one  may  say  that  misplaced  confidence  is  a  drug  in 
•the  world,  and  the  quantity  destroyed  in  this  case  is  of 
no  particular  account  any  way  ;  but  when  we  remember 
how  often  the  average  student  is  obliged  to  draw  on  the 
home  stock  of  this  commodity,  anything  which  tends  to 
diminish  the  article  in  question  becomes  at  once  a  mat- 
ter of  great  importance. 

But  the  effect  produced  upon  the  student  himself 
is,  after  all,  the  main  thing  to  be  considered.  And 
certainly  no  one  at  all  conversant  with  college  life 
can  deny  that  this  effect  is  a  serious  and  a  sad  one. 
A  young  man  comes  here  with  his  new  umbrella. 
It  is,  to  him,  an  indication  that  he  has  at  last  assumed 
the  toga  virilis.  Whatever  else  he  may  lack,  he 
certainly  is  the  uncontrollable  owner  of  an  umbrella. 
It  is,  as  it  were,  a  patent  of  manhood,  granted  to  him 
by  the  authorities  at  home.  But  this  young  man  is 
the  victim  of  a  singular  delusion.  He  has,  in  addition 
to  his  other  vagaries,  a  notion  that  he  is  the  peer 
of  every  man  in  college,  each  one,  like  himself,  the 
owner  of  an  umbrella.  Accordingly,  he  treats  them  as 
such.  With  primeval  simplicity,  he  regards  this  as  the 
elysium  of  umbrellas.  Perhaps  it  rains,  on  the  morn- 
ing of  his  first  appearance  at  college.  With  umbrella 
spread,  in  proud  conspicuousness,  the  youth  starts  for 
chapel.  With  unhesitating  confidence  he  leaves  it  at 
the  door — not  even  stopping  to  wonder  why  he  has  no 
example  for  this  original  proceeding.  There  it  stands, 
in  solitary  grandeur — a  striking  and  overwhelming 
proof  of  the  original  innocence  of  man  !  It  is,  indeed, 
a  sight  which  thrills  the  heart  of  every  lover  of  his  kind  ! 


MY  UMBRELLA.  195 

Meanwhile,  the  new-made  peer  goes  through  his  devo- 
tions in  proper  form.  Not  a  thought  of  his  umbrella  dis- 
turbs the  sweet  serenity  of  his  spirit.  The  services  over, 
the  young  man,  after  conscientiously  bowing  to  the  Prex, 
departs.  Now  just  consider  his  situation.  His  natural 
amiability,  increased  by  the  refining  influences  of  a  pre- 
paratory school,  and  at  the  present  moment  subdued  by 
the  chastening  atmosphere  of  the  chapel,  leads  him  to 
put  the  most  implicit  faith  in  all  mankind,  and  partic- 
ularly in  that  part  of  mankind  now  included  within 
the  pale  of  Yale.  His  heart  swells  as  he  thinks  that  he, 
too,  is  part  and  parcel  of  the  noble  human  family.  Un- 
der the  influence  of  these  emotions,  he  looks  for  that 
new  umbrella.  Of  course  it  is  not  to  be  found  !  It  has 
gone  to  swell  the  general  stock  of  college  umbrellas. 
But  the  Freshman  !  Who  can  estimate  the  harm  it  has 
done  him  ?  His  faith  in  human  nature — the  sense  of 
his  own  dignity — the  religious  calm  of  his  spirit — all 
obliterated  in  an  instant !  And  yet  some  men  are 
found  heartless  enough  to  joke  about  such  things  ! 

This,  however,  is  by  no  means  the  end  of  the  matter. 
Iniquity  is  a  wonderful  breeder  of  iniquity ; — whence 
it  follows  that  he  who  has- had  an  umbrella  borrowed, 
generally  becomes,  in  the  end,  a  borrower  of  umbrellas. 
Of  course  this  result  is  necessary  to  the  maintenance  of 
the  system  pursued  here  ;  because  if  every  man  who 
needed  an  umbrella  were  foolish  enough  to  buy  one, 
there  would  soon  be  a  surplus,  and  when  this  was 
noised  abroad  it  is  not  too  much  to  presume  that  mem- 
bers of  incoming  classes  would  become  so  recreant  to 
the  duties  of  their  station  in  life  as  to  come  to  college 
unprovided  with  these  highly  ornamental  articles  of 
outfit. 

But  this  borrowing  may  be  carried  too  far.     Observe 


196  IMPEDIMENTA. 

the  practical  effects.  A  friend  of  mine  was  the  owner 
of  an  umbrella,  purchased  with  lawful  coin.  Under 
its  kindly  protection  he  had  weathered  two  years  of 
college  life.  When  storms  were  the  most  violent,  it  was 
his  best  friend.  For  all  its  sorry  appearance,  he  was 
attached  to  it.  One  evening  he  left  it  at  his  door.  It 
was  an  infantile  act.  He  has  never  seen  it  since.  But 
my  friend  was  a  philosopher.  He  privately  assured  me 
that  he  had  really  wanted  a  new  umbrella, — one  with 
all  the  modern  improvements, — for  a  long  time,  but 
habits  of  economy  would  not  permit  him  to  buy  a  new  one 
until  he  was  rid  of  the  old  one.  I  think  he  felt  under 
obligations  to  the  man  who  took  it.  Not  long  after 
this,  my  friend  appeared  with  a  new  umbrella.  I  can't 
remember  a  tithe  of  its  peculiar  excellencies — for  each 
one  of  which  he  paid  a  good  sum,  as  the  manner  is  ; 
but,  taken  all  in  all,  it  was  a  very  remarkable  piece  of 
property.  Owing  to  his  inadvertence,  however,  it  ran 
the  same  risk  as  its  predecessor,  and,  it  is  almost  need- 
less to  add,  incurred  a  similar  fate.  My  friend's  phil- 
osophy has  not  been  heard  of  since.  He  said  little,  but 
it  was  to  the  point ;  and  in  the  time  that  has  elapsed 
since  then,  he  has  become  the  possessor  of  seven  um- 
brellas. 

Now  a  witty  man  might  consider  this  a  capital  joke 
— but  I  cannot.  It  is  demoralization  demoralized. 
For  the  system  does  not  provide  for  such  unlimited 
borrow — it  is  not  expected  that  any  man  will  have 
more  than  one  borrowed  umbrella  on  hand  at  a  time. 
But  here  is  a  man  who  has  seven  !  One  of  two  con- 
clusions is  inevitable :  that  either  six  borrowers  have 
been  robbed  of  umbrellas  borrowed  by  them,  or  those 
who  naturally  provide  these  six  borrowers  with  umbrel- 
las are  unable  to  supply  their  wants,  on  account  of  the 


MY   UMBRELLA.  IQ7 

rapacity  of  my  friend.  This  is  a  serious  matter,  one  in 
which  every  college  man  is  interested,  and  one  which 
least  of  all  is  capable  of  exciting  mirth  ; — though  there 
are  persons  who  will  try  to  make  you  laugh  about  it. 
For  such  persons  I  am  profoundly  sorry. 

There  are  phases  of  the  umbrella  question  which 
might  be  examined  ;  but  I  think  it  would  be  very  sad- 
dening work.  One  recurs  to  me  now.  It  is  the  possi- 
ble danger  that  some  member  of  one  of  the  lower 
classes,  after  having  had  his  own  umbrella  borrowed, 
may  go  into  the  same  business  on  his  own  account. 
This,  of  course,  would  be  destructive  to  the  system — 
since  at  least  the  newest  comers  are  supposed  to  pro- 
cure their  umbrellas  only  from  regular  dealers.  How 
sad  it  would  be,  if  they,  in  a  moment  of  thoughtlessness 
should  thus  go  contrary  to  the  plainest  maxim  of  the 
system  !  But  the  shocking  disregard  of  all  college 
principles  of  right  and  wrong  which  such  a  procedure 
would  indicate,  is  the  worst  feature  about  this  possible 
change.  For  the  credit  of  Yale,  it  is  to  be  hoped  it 
will  never  take  place.  Leastwise,  let's  have  no  joking 
about  it ! 


"A  lytell  ragge  of  rethorike, 
A  lesse  lumpe  of  logyke, 
A  pece  or  a  patche  of  philosophy." 

— JOHN  SKELTON. 

MY  pipe  is  a  very  ordinary  one,  but  it  has  a  deal  of 
comfortableness  about  it.  A  cherry  stem,  which  still 
keeps  the  smell  of  orchards,  and  a  plain,  but  plethoric 
bowl :  this  is  my  pipe.  It  has  no  ornament,  save  a  trifle 
of  antique  carving  about  the  edge — and  this  is  wholly 
accidental,  coming  from  sundry  knockings  against  the 
stove,  in  my  lazy  attempts  to  empty  it.  I  like  it  the 
better  that  it  gets  ornaments  from  hard  knocks.  A 
dry  old  fellow  is  my  pipe,  and  yet  not  utterly  without  a 
certain  juicy  humor  ; — as  my  friends  are  wont  to  lugubri- 
ously observe,  after  smoking  it.  But  my  pipe«and  I  un- 
derstand it  all ;  we  take  our  comfort  just  the  same. 

And  yet  we  have  our  ups  and  downs,  my  pipe  and  I. 
We  try,  however,  to  bear  all  that  comes  with  philosophic 
patience,  if  not  with  philosophic  indifference  ; — for  as  my 
pipe  often  says,  rainy  days  last  only  twenty-four  hours, 
just  the  same  as  sunshiny  ones,  which  I  have  never  yet 
been  able  to  gainsay. 

My  pipe  is  an  every-day  friend  :  it  enters  into  all  the 
business  of  my  life.  It  marks  the  cheerful  epochs  of 
each  day  ; — breakfast-time,  dinner-time  and  supper-time 
precede  its  pleasant  companionship  ;  meeting  a  friend 
necessitates  its  introduction  ;  a  letter  from  home  is  more 
relishable  from  its  presence ;  it  helps  to  "  welcome 
peaceful  evening  in." 


MY    PIPE.  IQ9 

My  pipe  makes  stormy  weather  bearable.  When  rainy 
days  come  and  the  leaves  are  falling,  it  grows  joyful — 
for  such  weather  promises  more  of  my  company.  Bless- 
ings on  the  friend  who  is  thus  most  faithful  in  adverse 
seasons  !  Given  plenty  of  tobacco  and  a  match  or  two, 
and  it  will  smoke  me  all  the  day  long,  then.  And  truly 
it  does  soften  the  fall  of  the  orphaned  leaves  to  see  them 
go  fluttering  earthward  through  the  fragrant  clouds  of 
tobacco-smoke  which  issue  from  my  pipe ;  while  the 
patter  of  the  rain  is  wondrously  softened  under  its  mol- 
lifying influences.  Indeed,  I  am  not  sure  but  that  this 
is  the  chief  charm  of  my  pipe — that  it  tones  down  all 
the  roughnesses  of  life,  and  while  it  in  no  sense  weak- 
ens my  apprehension  of  their  existence,  yet  so  removes 
me  in  feeling  from  them  that  I  am  able  to  view  them 
rather  as  a  spectator  than  as  a  sufferer.  My  brother,  then 

"  Nee  te  poeniteat  calanao  trivisse  labellum." 

The  groundlings  may  declaim  ;  but  you,  sitting  in  the 
"  calm  lights  of  a  mild  philosophy,"  can  well  afford  them 
this  privilege. 

Even  the  Lord's  day  is  not  unblessed  by  my  pipe. 
!\nd  surely  a  college  Sunday  needs  something  to  relieve 
it.  Not  to  mention  the  dismalness  of  prospective  or 
realized  chapel  services,  and  other  incidental  matters  of 
a  like  nature,  with  which  we  are  "  disciplined,"  it  is 
enough  that  we  have  no  home  here  at  college,  such  as 
most  of  us  have  previously  enjoyed.  But  my  pipe  rises 
to  the  full  measure  of  the  situation.  It  strengthens  for 
chapel  ;  it  refreshes  afterward  ;  it  steadies  for  the  excite- 
ments of  a  mission  Sunday-school  or  a  united  service  ; 
it  quiets  in  the  hours  of  meditation  which  follow.  But  on 
a  Sunday  night  my  pipe  fits  me  for  fellowship.  In  a 
cozy  circle  of  genial  hearts,  my  pipe  reigns  over  me  with 
undoubted  supremacy.  For  me  it  softens  the  jest ;  for 


200  IMPEDIMENTA. 

me  it  liberalizes  philosophy  ;  for  me  it  increases  charity. 
Enveloping  us  in  its  all-embracing  folds  of  smoke,  it 
makes  us  brothers  indeed.  Later,  when  that  sober  and 
half  melancholy  mood  follows  which  always  fills  up  a 
part  of  the  sitting  of  any  group  of  college  friends,  my 
pipe  fits  itself  to  the  humor  of  the  time.  Not  a  wink 
escapes  it — not  a  wrinkle  of  laughter  disturbs  its  calm 
serenity.  As  the  talk  runs  on  about  the  now  and  the 
to-come,  about  goodness  and  badness,  about  destiny 
and  God,  it  tells  me  to  be  patient  in  the  present,  to  wait 
and  hope  for  the  future  ;  it  softens  for  me  the  coldness 
and  abstractness  of  virtue  and  teaches  me  to  be  pitiful 
to  the  sinner — whispering  that  although  sinning  he  may 
have  been  sinned  against,  and  adding  that  He  who  is  all- 
merciful,  as  well  as  all-just,  may  be  kinder  to  him  than 
I  think  ;  it  bids  me  have  faith,  for 

"  God's  in  his  heaven — 

All's  right  with  the  world  !" 

And  afterward,  when  at  last  the  kind  faces  and  loyal 
hearts  have  gone,  and  my  pipe  and  I  are  left  alone,  it 
grows  still  more  communicative.  With  a  comical  de- 
nial of  egotism  visible  in  its  honest  old  face,  it  asks  me 
to  notice  how  it  is  always  faithful,  patient  and  ready  in 
my  service  ;  how  it  is  as  much  my  friend  when  comfort- 
able in  my  old  boots  as  when  I  have  torment-causing 
new  ones  on,  ending  its  questioning  by  asserting  that  if 
it,  only  a  pipe  (and  there  was  a  pathos  in  its  tone  when 
it  says  this,  which  means,  to  me, — if  I  only  were  a  man 
or  a  woman,  I  would  show  you  what  a  human  friend 
ought  to  be),  can  be  so  constant  and  true,  how  much 
more  true  and  constant  must  a  sentient  entity  be  ; — and 
thus  it  leads  me  to  have  faith  in  my  kind — thus  it  per- 
suades me  that  goodness  and  faithfulness  are  active 
principles  in  some  human  hearts.  My  pipe,  with  a  rare 


MY    PIPE.  2OI 

generosity,  does  not  assume  to  itself  all  the  excellency 
there  is  in  the  world. 

But  my  pipe,  unwittingly,  has  led  me  into  trouble.  At 
home,  especially,  is  this  true.  My  father,  worthy  man, 
smokes — as  what  worthy  man  does  not?  "  Qui  vit  sans 
tabac  n'estgas  digne  vivre"  But  that  his  boy  should  be 
a  devotee  of  the  pipe — ah  me,  that  is  putting  the  boot  on 
the  other  foot !  So  I  get  my  regular  lectures — though  I 
have  noticed  that  my  father  is  able  to  put  a  peculiar  unc- 
tion and  torce  into  his  speech  if  he  be  but  smoking  at 
the  time  :  to  explain  which  many  ingenious  theories 
might  be  framed. 

And  this,  with  other  things,  have  I  suffered  on  thy  ac- 
count, my  pipe  !  But  thou  art  too  kind — too  faithful — to 
be  relinquished  for  such  petty  vexations.  Thou,  if  no 
other,  art  always  suited  to  my  mood.  And  I  have  need 
of  such  a  friend  :  for  life  is  changeable  and  I  am  human 
— so  sometimes  I  am  pleasant,  and  why  nobody  knows  ; 
and  often  1  am  sour  and  cross  with  as  little  reason.  A 
good  dinner,  a  pleasant  word,  a  happy  thought,  are 
dominant  over  the  best  of  us.  And  my  pipe  knows  this. 
Well-filled  and  well-lighted,  its  big  mouth  sends  forth 
the  sinuous  smoke  in  complete  accord  with  my  humor: 
thin  and  spiteful  puffs  when  excited  or  disturbed — long 
luxurious  whiffs,  surrounding  me  with  a  thick  cloud  of 
hazy  blue,  when  lazily  contented.  In  this  way  my  pipe 
tempers  my  disposition :  alleviating  and  diminishing 
my  perplexities  and  sorrows — moderating  and  etherial- 
izing  my  pleasures  and  joys. 

My  pipe  is  singularly  gracious  and  helpful  -to  me,  how- 
ever, when  I  am  melancholy  or  meditative. 

"  Ven  clouds  are  plack  above, 
Und  much  is  plack  below, 
Tish  den  dat  I  do  love 
A  cloud  of  smoke  to  plow." 


202  IMPEDIMENTA. 

I  remember  returning  to  my  room  one  Sunday  night — 
not  so  long  ago  but  that  I  remember  it— heartily  sick 
of  living.  The  friends  I  had  seemed  of  no  worth  to  me, 
because  the  one  I  believed  in  was  a  myth.  The  night 
was  cheerless,  and  old  South  College  looked  grim  and 
forbidding.  Entering  my  room,  my  pipe,  in  good- 
natured  attempt  to  cheer  me  up,  tipped  me  a  wink  of  wel- 
.come,  although  I  could  see  beneath  this  assumption  of 
good  feeling  a  look  which  said  plainly — "  Well,  old  fel- 
low, here  is  a  pretty  fix  !"  I  scowled  at  it,  as  my  manner 
is  with  my  best  friends.  My  pipe  sobered  down  at  that ; 
— even  its  cheerfulness  gives  way  before  one  of  my 
north-east  moods.  I  sat  down  then  for  a  visit  with  the 
blue  devils.  They  were  not  behindhand  in  coming, 
either.  All  about  me  and  over  me  they  perched.  One 
wonderfully  ugly  imp  planted  himself  directly  upon  my 
knee.  How  fraternal  he  was  !  I  understood  then  how 
honest  Sancho  Panza  came  to  say  "gadenookers  !"  In 
utter  desperation  I  finally  shoved  the  little  heathen  into 
the  stove,  and  rejoiced  in  my  soul  to  see  the  blue  spurt 
of  flame  which  signalized  his  return  to  "night's  Pluton- 
ian shore."  Wretchedly  I  turned  about  for  comfort. 
And  there  was  my  pipe.  You  who  smoke,  know  what 
it  did  for  me. 

He  who  remembers  and  reflects  needs  to  smoke.  A 
dapper  genius  lurks  about  the  ragged  edge  of  my  pipe, 
with  wand  in  hand,  always  ready  to  show  me  pictures  of 
the  past.  As  I  gaze  at  the  quaint  magician,  but  dimly 
seen  through  the  revolving  blue,  I  lose  myself  in  mem- 
ories and  reveries.  Childhood  days  and  early  friends 
appear  before  me.  The  song  of  the  robin,  first  heard 
upon  a  June  morning  long  time  since,  haunts  me  with 
its  original  influence ;  again  the  sunshine  shimmers 
down  through  the  trees  upon  the  head  of  my  little  girl 


MY    PIPE.  203 

sweetheart,  as  it  did  when  we  teetered  under  the  apple- 
blossoms  summers  ago  ;  the  story-books  are  once  more 
full  of  marvels  for  me,  and  I  wonder  whether  Robinson 
Crusoe  and  Masterman  Ready  are  yet  the  heroes  I  some- 
time imagined  them  to  be  ;  just  as  my  pipe  goes  out  I 
see  myself,  pure  and  guileless,  kneeling  at  my  mother's 
knee  and  stammering  out  a  drowsy — 

"  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep." 

But  I  can  never  tell  all  about  my  pipe.     Here  it 

is  before  me  now,  good  and  kind  and  faithful  as  ever. 
I  think  I'll  smoke. 


Slooe. 

I  know  not  anything  more  pleasant,  or  more  instructive,  than  to 
compare  experience  with  expectation,  or  to  register  from  time  to 
time  the  difference  between  idea  and  reality. 

— DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

THE  stove  has  long  ruled  in  Yale  College.  But — 
"  The  king  is  dead  :  long  live  the  king  !"  And  yet  the 
old  despot  was  not  a  bad  one.  Even  though  he  be  dead 
I  see  the  relics  of  his  power  still  remaining  in  the 
older  buildings  ;  while  wherever  two  or  three  of  the 
cherishing  mother's  children  are  gathered  together  the 
central  figure  of  their  college  reminiscences  is  the  old 
stove. 

I  remember  not  only  when  the  stove  was  omnipotent 
but  also  some  of  its  peculiarities. 

In  the  first  place  it  was  always  an  article  of  furniture  ; 
— often,  too,  rather  useful  than  ornamental.  Whether 
ornamental  or  not,  however,  it  was  always  a  familiar  and 
confidential  member  of  the  household.  It  first  made  my 
den  look  something  like  home  ;  it  welcomed  me  back  at 
each  beginning  of  term-time  ;  it  kept  its  countenance 
in  spite  of  my  best  jokes  ;  it  preserved  its  serenity  when 
I  lost  my  temper ;  it  looked  cheerful  when  I  was  blue  ; 
it  noticed  all  my  weak  points  and  yet  remained  my 
friend  ;  it  endured  my  gibes  and  cursings  with  unvary- 
ing gravity,  and  warmed  me  well  for  it  afterward.  Not- 
withstanding its  solemn  appearance,  however,  it  had 
a  touch  of  humor  about  it.  Often  and  often  have  I 
caught  my  stove  drowsily  and  laboriously  chuckling  to 


MY   STOVE.  205 

itself  at  the  thought  of  my  state  of  mind  upon  finding  as 
prospectively  good  a  fire  as  I  ever  saw  in  my  life  out  in 
the  morning.  Apparently  it  used  to  be  meditating 
some  joke  at  all  hours  of  the  day,  but  it  never  quite 
made  up  its  mind  to  attempt  it  until  late  in  the  evening : 
— and  so  it  happened  that  I  always  went  to  bed  in  a  de- 
licious state  of  uncertainty  as  to  whether  I  should  ever 
see  that  fire  again  or  not.  The  hopeful-spirited  man  to 
whom  I  sold  my  stove  thought  this  peculiarity  ought 
to  diminish  its  value  to  a  mere  fraction  of  the  price  I 
put  upon  it,  but  I  finally  convinced  him  to  the  contrary. 
Said  I — "  My  dear  sir,  supposing  you  should  start  on  a 
trip  round  the  world,  and  should  leave  a  good  fire  in 
that  stove,  would  you  want  it  to  keep  burning  all  the 
while  you  were  gone?  Not  at  all  ; — every  one  of  poor 
Richard's  maxims  would  be  irrecoverably  demolished  by 
such  a  proceeding  as  that,  sir.  Very  well.  Just  take 
that  stove  ;  make  as  good  a  fire  as  you  can  in  it ;  say 
good-bye  to  your  weeping  friends  ;  put  more  coal  on  the 
fire  and  seize  your  carpet-bag  ; — then  calmly  lock  your 
door,  and  I'll  guarantee  that  that  fire  will  go  out  before 
the  key  touches  the  bottom  of  your  pocket !" 

As  I  sat  by  my  stove  for  the  last  time  previous  to  its 
removal,  naturally  I  thought  about  the  approaching 
change.  Those  new  buildings  with  all  their  modern 
improvements  rose  up  before  me  in  their  ideal  beauty. 
And  especially  the  heating  apparatus.  A  vast  skeleton 
of  iron  pipes  and  brazen  coils  upreared  itself  like  the 
gothic  steed  of  the  Potomac  warrior.  And  every  one 
packed  full  of  steam — every  pipe,  little  and  big,  fairly 
sweating  with  the  steam  it  contained.  I  began  to  fear 
my  new  home  would  be  uncomfortably  warm.  And 
then  steam — steam  !  Ominous  word  for  me — connected, 
from  the  day  in  which  I  burned  my  nose  trying  to  smell 


2O6  IMPEDIMENTA.  . 

of  the  spout  of  the  family  tea-kettle,  to  the  time  of  the 
last  railroad  disaster,  with  horrible  things  !  I  looked  at 
the  shadowy  fabric  again  ; — I  saw  no  way  for  the  steam 
to  go,  if  it  got  out,  except  perhaps  upon  my  unsuspecting 
back,  perhaps  into  my  innocent  face.  But  that  would 
hardly  be  called. an  improvement,  thought  I,  even  by  an 
intelligent,  though  interested  artisan.  And  then  I 
smiled  grimly  at  my  stove  as  I  thought  it  could  play  no 
more  jokes  on  me  ;  "  Summer  the  year  round  after  this, 
you  know,  my  dear  old  friend,"  said  I,  blandly.  An 
equable  temperature,  that's  what's  on  the  programme  of 
the  future,  which  will  tend,  let  us  hope,  towards  an 
equable  temper ; — whereupon  the  ungrateful  old  hard- 
ware nearly  tipped  itself  off  its  legs  trying  to  put  a 
damper  on  my  expectations.  The  next  moment  one  of 
my  boots  went  nearly  through  its  shaky  sides,  thereby 
making  it  a  piece  of  fixed  property  for  me. 

It  was  in  July  when  I  saw  the  perspiration  on  the 
iron  pipes  and  brazen  coils ;  in  January  those  beaded 
drops  were  turned  into  icicles  ; — and  I  still  live  !  I 
have  gotten  over  my  ancient  dread  of  steam — at  least  in 
the  mild  form  in  which  it  has  assailed  me.  I  verily  be- 
lieve I  could  stand  in  it  up  to  my  neck  and  not  shiver — 
unless  with  cold.  I  now  understand  what  an  equable 
temperature  means — two-degrees  above  the  freezing- 
point  and  a  temper  at  the  same  level  thrown  in  ! 

A  steam-heater  is  beyond  question  an  ingenious  con- 
trivance. It  warms  the  body  and  disciplines  the  soul. 
In  this  respect  it  seems  to  have  been  patterned  after  the 
prospective  abode  of  unrepentant  sinners.  It  delights 
the  eye  and  tortures  the  ear.  In  this  respect  it  resem- 
bles the  shrewish  talk  of  a  pretty  woman.  It  is  now 
hot  and  now  cold. 

The  normal  condition  of  the  steam-heater  is  one  of 


MY  STOVE.  207 

frigidity.  It  tempers  the  air  delightfully,  in  the  summer 
months.  Even  in  May  and  June  it  adds  much  to  the 
pleasure  of  life.  With  the  warm  air  streaming  in  at  the 
open  windon  one  enjoys  sitting  by  it  and  reading  about 
the  pre-Adamic  world.  The  steam-heater,  when  full)  up 
to  the  modern  standard,  is  an  odoriferous  arrangement, 
and  yet  it  never  suggests  the  aromatic  musk  or  the  spicy 
spikenard.  Oil  of  long-standing  and  much  experienced 
in  the  vicissitudes  of  fortune  issues  from  it  in  a  delicate 
mist,  and  the  clayey  tenement  of  the  unfortunate  tenant 
of  the  room  is  kept  well-oiled  for  unavoidable  contests 
with  a  cold  and  unfeeling  world.  The  steam-heater  is 
a  great  promoter  of  sociality.  Most  men  when  under 
its  influence  have  something  to  say,  and  it's  poor  fun  to 
scold  about  a  cold  to  one's  self.  It  exhiliarates  one  to 
hear  a  crowd  of  fellows,  on  a  cold  day,  talk  about  a 
steam-heater.  There  is  a  crispness  and  vigor  in  the 
conversation  which  augurs  well  for  the  future  of  the 
U.  S.  Senate. 

The  ideal  steam-heater,  like  the  ideal  baby,  is  a  de- 
lightful thing.  But,  as  the  real  baby  seems  to  be  always 
the  victim  of  a  chronic  disarrangement,  so  the  real 
steam-heater  is  generally  out  of  order  in  some  way  or 
other  from  one  week's  end  to  another.  For  instance  ; 
the  pictured  steam-heater  is  always  represented  as 
swelling  with  steam.  In  point  of  fact,  however,  the 
every-day  steam-heater  is  as  a  rule  in  a  woeful  state  of 
collapse  on  account  of  the  lack  of  steam.  As  an  useful 
fixture  in  a  room,  therefore,  it  is  at  the  best  unreliable  ; 
while  as  an  ornamental  fixture  it  is  too  suggestive  of  this 
age  of  brass  and  the  business  of  the  shop. 

In  a  well-regulated  family  it  is  possible  that  the  aver- 
age steam-heater  might  be  of  some  use.  In  stormy 
weather  I  should  suppose  it  would  be  a  good  thing  on 


208  IMPEDIMENTA. 

which  to  hang  clothes,  though  unless  there  was  a  good 
stove  in  the  room  I  doubt  if  they  would  ever  dry  ; — for 
which  statement  old  Falstaff's  saying,  that  "  a  good  wit 
will  make  use  of  anything,"  is  my  chief  warrant,  though, 
to  be  sure,  he  never  so  much  as  dreamed  of  steam- 
heaters. 


Clock. 

THOUGH  the  category  of  "  Possessions  of  mine,"  with 
which  the  reading  and  traveling  public  has  been  favored 
— I  came  very  near  saying  bored — for  the  past  year  or 
two,  has  been  well-nigh  exhausted,  extending  in  an  un- 
broken succession  from  "That  Husband  of  mine,"  with 
his  "  wide-awake  hat  and  cut-away  coat,"  down  to  "  That 
Wife  of  mine,"  with  all  her  distinctive  peculiarities,  one 
possession  has  unfortunately  been  passed  over.  I  can- 
not conscientiously  accuse  our  popular  writers  of  neg- 
lect in  this  matter,  and  yet  the  subject  has  not  been 
mentioned.  I  refer  to  "  That  Clock  of  Mine."  So  it  be- 
comes my  painful  duty  to  inflict  upon  the  literary  world 
one  more,  and  I  hope  a  final,  history,  whose  title  is  to 
be  vaunted  with  glaring  capitals  upon  the  bookstore 
bulletins,  and  shrieked  with  the  discordant  notes  of  the 
newsboys  upon  every  railroad  train  in  the  land.  It  is 
necessary  for  me  to  state  by  way  of  explanation,  and  in 
order  to  save  myself  from  the  imprecations  which  might 
otherwise  fall  upon  my  defenseless  head,  that  "  That 
clock  of  mine  "  is  not,  dear  reader,  the  identical  time- 
piece the  story  of  whose  birth,  life  and  death  has  made 
melodious  the  midnight  air  on  many  a  college  campus, 
and  which  is  credited  with  having  belonged  to  "  My 
Grandfather."  In  these  prominent  respects  does  my 
clock  differ  from  the  above.  First,  it  was  not  "  bought 
on  the  morn  of  the  day  that  I  was  born," — how  could  it 
have  been,  when  I  purchased  it  myself?  Secondly.it 


2IO  IMPEDIMENTA. 

did  not  "  stop  short — never  to  go  again,  when  the  '  old 
man '  died,"  because,  unfortunately,  the  '  old  man '  is 
still  in  the  land  of  the  living,  and,  Thirdly,  it  never 
belonged  to  my  grandfather  at  all  !  And  so  the  ava- 
lanche of  wrath  and  the  vengeance  which  every  sensi- 
bly-minded man  has  sworn  upon  the  next  poor  unfor- 
tunate who  should  allude  to  "  My  Grandfather's  Clock," 
must  for  the  present  be  spared  from  me. 

The  metamorphoses  which  the  Yale  student's  room 
undergoes  during  the  four  fleeting  years  of  his  tarrying 
in  the  land  of  elms  would  indeed  furnish  material  for 
many  a  popular  writer.  The  various  stages  of  its 
transformation  are  interesting  to  study.  First,  the 
Freshmanic,  in  the  top  floor  of  North  or  North  Middle. 
Its  occupant,  with  the  parental  instructions  to  beware 
of  college  extravagance  still  fresh  in  his  memory,  fur- 
nishes it  scantily  and  barely,  and  lives  like  his  fellow- 
student  at  a  four-dollar  club,  in  the  hope  of  something 
better  and  brighter  to  come  in  the  future.  Second,  the 
Sophomoric  stage  amid  the  classic  and  venerable  shades 
of  South  Middle, — with  forty  centuries  more  or  less 
looking  down  upon  us  !  This  is  the  year  when  ingenu- 
ity and  Sophomoric  taste  vie  with  each  other  in  decora- 
tion. The  traditional  bangers  and  stove-pipe  must  be 
crossed  above  the  door,  and  the  announcement,  "  Chil- 
dren positively  not  admitted  here  unless  accompanied 
by  their  parents,"  must  be  placed  in  a  conspicuous 
position.  In  a  word,  everything  must  be  done  to  strike 
terror  to  the  Freshmanic  heart  and  inspire  him  with 
reverential  awe  when  he  is  summoned  before  that 
dreaded  tribunal  which  is  very  likely  to  hold  its  sessions 
in  the  afore-mentioned  room  about  the  beginning  of  the 
fall  term. 

Sophomore  annuals  safely  passed,  "  a  change  comes 


MY   CLOCK.  211 

o'er  the  spirit  of  his  dreams."  Childish  things  must 
be  put  away.  South  Middle,  with  all  its  tender  as- 
sociations, must  be  handed  over  to  the  ruthless  Fresh. 
The  dignity  of  Junior  year  must  be  assumed,  and 
a  room  in  Farnam  or  Durfee  is  considered  the  only 
proper  thing.  And  at  this  stage  I  must  beg  leave  to 
pause,  for,  thanks  to  an  indulgent  faculty  and  skillful 
systematic  skinning,  I  am  now  enjoying  the  privileges 

of  Junior  year  at  No. Farnam.     There  !    I  came 

near  telling  the  number  of  my  foom,  which  would  be 
a  decidedly  rash  and  dangerous  procedure,  not  only 
"giving  myself  away," — of  all  things  most  dreaded  by 
a  college  man — but  it  would  spoil  all  chances  for  guess- 
ing and  conjecture,  which  are  the  reader's  special  priv- 
ilege. 

The  most  prominent  piece  of  furniture  in  my  room 
is  a  tall,  slender,  wooden  clock.  It  is  an  ancient  time- 
piece, which,  like  the  "  Horologue  of  Eternity," — 

"  Points  and  beckons  with  its  hands 
From  its  case  of  massive  oak  ! 
Like  a  monk  who,  under  his  cloak 
Crosses  himself  and  sighs,  alas ! 
With  sorrowful  voice  to  all  who  pass, 
'  Forever— never ! 
Never — Forever.' " 

I  came  across  it  at  an  auction  of  ancient  furniture  in 
New  York  last  summer.  A  second-hand  dealer  and 
myself  were  the  only  bidders,  and  finally  it  was  knocked 

down  to  me  at ,  but  to  tell  the  price  would  take 

away  all  the  beauty.  I  bought  it,  brought  it  to  New 
Haven,  and  placed  it  in  my  room,  where,  thanks  to  a 
little  oil  and  furniture  polish,  it  looks  as  bright  as  in 
its  youth,  and  the  old  pendulum  performs  its  slow  and 
steady  oscillations  with  all  the  regularity  and  dignity  of 
years  gone  by.  It  may  seem  childish  and  foolish,  and 


212  IMPEDIMENTA. 

yet  I  love  that  ancient  clock.  It  has  come  to  be  so 
companionable  that  I  regard  it  as  a  friend,  and  some- 
times when  it  starts  to  strike,  it  almost  seems  as  it  were 
alive  and  trying  to  speak  !  It  used  to  show  all  the 
changes  of  the  moon  and  planets  in  former  days,  but 
now  the  wheels  are  out  of  order  and  the  solar  system 
for  the  present  is  at  rest.  The  new  moon  tries  pretty 
hard  to  creep  out  from  behind  the  cloud  in  the  sky 
which  is  painted  on  its  face,  but  remains  hidden  in  spite 
of  itself.  Some  days  it  looks  so  bright  and  cheerful, 
and  seems  to  say  with  its  stately  tick  as  I  leave  it  to  go 
to  recitation : 

"  Rush !— Fizzle  ! 
Fizzle !— Rush !" 

And  then  I  always  get  a  splendid  mark.  But  of  late  its 
tone  has  changed,  and  now  its  voice  is  subdued  and 
sad,  and  there  is  a  touch  of  plantive  melancholy  in  it 
as  it  motions  to  me  with  its  ancient  hands,  and  warns 
me, — 

"  Flunk  !— Fizzle  ! 
Fizzle!— Flunk!" 

Too  true  !  too  true  !  old  friend.  Physiology  and  Ahn 
have  done  their  work,  and  what  was  once  a  splendid 
stand  is  now  upon  the  ragged-edge  of  average.  Two 
letters  with  the  college  stamp  have  evaded  all  the  plans 
of  interception  and  reached  the  paternal  hearth — the 
outlook  is  indeed  a  dark  one. 


DESCRIPTIVE   PIECES. 


THREE  years  in  New  Haven,  and  have  never  seen  the 
Thimble  Islands  !  Well,  a  day  or  two  on  salt  water 
and  in  sunshine,  will  do  wonders  for  that  dyspepsia  of 
yours  ;  so  borrow  a  double-barrel  from  somebody,  and 
join  Captain  and  the  Doctor  on  a  ducking-party.  Four 
of  us  will  be  merry  enough  for  the  Gem  ;  there's  a 
capital  cold  lunch  in  that  hamper,  and  never  mind  what 
it  is  that  clinks  against  the  ice  in  the  bucket. 

Captain's  portly  form  looks  odd  enough  in  his  well- 
worn  shooting-jacket ;  which  tells,  however,  many  a 
tale  of  swift  destruction  to  innocent  snipe  and  plover, 
in  its  ooze-drabbled  edges,  and  the  evident  traces  of 
Charm's  muddy  paws.  His  moustache,  too,  takes  a 
still  fiercer  curl  as  he  carefully  sifts  the  powder  into 
his  flask.  One  cannot  look  at  him  without  thinking  of 
Kingsley's  ideal  naturalist.  "  He  must  be  strong  in 
body,  able  to  haul  a  dredge,  climb  a  rock,  tu.rn  a  boul- 
der, walk  all  day  uncertain  where  he  shall  eat  or  rest ; 
ready  to  face  sun  and  rain,  wind  and  frost,  and  to  eat 
or  drink  thankfully  anything,  however  coarse  or  meagre  ; 
he  should  know  how  to  swim  for  his  life,  to  pull  an  oar, 
to  sail  a  boat,  and  ride  the  first  horse  which  comes  to 
hand  ;  and,  finally,  he  should  be  a  thoroughly  good  shot 
and  a  skillful  fisherman  ;  and,  if  he  go  far  abroad,  be 
able  on  occasion  to  fight  for  his  life." 

Even  the  Doctor's  impregnable  countenance  is  lighted 
with  a  complacent  look,  not  to  accuse  him  of  a  smile, 


2l6       .  DESCRIPTIVE  PIECES. 

which  reminds  one  of  some  old  granite  fortress,  bright- 
ened by  a  ray  or  two  of  sunset. 

You  and  I,  unsportsmanlike  in  our  boating  flannels, 
wear  perhaps  too  unsophisticated  a  gladness  on  our 
visages,  though  the  well-earned  tan  on  our  hands  and 
faces,  together  with  the  patches  on  our  fishing-boots, 
will  clear  us  from  any  sweeping  charge  of  verdancy. 
But  the  tide  has  turned  ebb  by  eight  o'clock,  and  we 
cannot  afford  to  lose  this  fresh  south-wester,  which 
every  October  morning  does  not  give  us,  so  pulling  off 
to  the  stake  in  Brooks'  diminutive  scow,  we  are  forthwith 
on  board.  Not  a  very  bad  twenty  foot  craft  this  ;  hardly 
celebrated,  or  likely  to  be,  regatta-wise,  but  staunch, 
and  a  sufficiently  good  sailer.  Haul  away  your  throat- 
halyards  ! — now  the  peak  ! — slack  a  little  for  boom-lifts  ? 
— up  with  your  jib  ! — lay  her  head  a  little  more  to 
port ! — and  as  the  sails  fill,  we  slip  off  easily  toward 
the  old  fort,  for  we  cannot  quite  lay  our  course,  with 
the  breeze  in  this  quarter.  As  we  get  beyond  the 
wharf  we  can  take  in  New  Haven  at  a  glance,  just 
astern.  To  port  are  the  hill-barriers  of  Lake  Salton- 
stall,  dark  with  evergreens  ;  Indian  hill,  crowned  with 
the  fort,  which  ancient  settlers  of  Quinnipiac  made 
good  against  the  Pequots ;  and  right  over  the  bow, 
Fort  Hale,  round,  wave-washed,  and  rugged  in  its  ruin, 
not  very  formidable  in  look,  and,  even  in  its  best  days, 
less  dangerous  probably  to  an  invading  armament,  than 
the  crooked  channel,  and  these  mud  shoals  on  which 
we  shall  ground  if  we  do  not  come  about. 

The  next  tack  disclosed  the  white  shining  crescent  of 
the  cove  beach,  with  the  country  houses  above  it,  and; 
once  more  on  starboard  tack,  we  leave  the  stunted 
cedars  and  barnacled  rocks  at  the  lighthouse  ;  the  flat 
beach,  and  creek  outside,  and  are  fairly  into  the  Sound. 


THE  THIMBLE   ISLANDS.  217 

Now  we  can  make  straight  sailing  to  Branford  Point, 
and  well  beyond  it  you  may  see  a  cloudy  something 
just  above  the  water ;  that  is  the  outermost  island. 
Round  we  come,  '  let  her  pay  off  a  little  more — slack 
your  main-sheet !'  and  we  relapse  into  the  most  perfect 
inertness,  until,  with  the  thin  jets  of  smoke  from  his 
hitherto  compressed  lips,  the  Doctor  slips  out  a  con- 
gratulatory "  Ah  !"  and  is  again  silent ;  but  there  are 
four  muzzles  pointed  over  the  weather  bow,  at  a  half 
dozen  fishy,  tough,  black  ducks — and  a  simultaneous 
bang.  .When  we  get  on  shore  we  shall  be  more  sports- 
manlike, and  not  quite  so  inclined  to  broadsides.  But 
here  is  the  advantage  of  having  a  shot  in  the  party ; 
there  is  a  dead  duck  without  doubt,  for  there  it  nutters, 
and  quite  as  undoubtedly,  the  Captain  must  be  the  suc- 
cessful marksman.  But  we  are  race-crew  men,  and  he 
gracefully  shares  the  glory ;  and  lets  the  game  go  to 
the  commonwealth,  without  grumbling;  the  epithet 
"  beastly,"  with  the  accompanying  "  hem,"  referring, 
beyond  question,  to  the  prospective  flavor  of  the  duck. 

Subsiding  again  into  leisure,  Captain  regales  us  with 
a  scientific  account  of  his  new  invention  for  increasing 
speed  in  ocean  navigation.  The  great  mechanical  and 
scientific  minds  of  two  continents  have  made  this  a 
principal  object  of  inquiry  for  years,  ist.  How  to  in- 
crease the  speed  of  ships,  by  models  securing  a  sharp 
run  and  light  draught.  2d.  How  to  steer  a  balloon, 
which  is  supposed  to  have  sufficient  speed  already. 

Truly  it  is  real  greatness  that  shows  simplicity  in  in- 
vention, causing  to  wonder,  all  those  who  had  before 
perplexed  themselves  with  intricate  solutions  of  the 
same  problem. 

Captain  simply  combines  steamship  with  balloon, 
lifts  the  sharp  beautiful  hull  till  only  keel  and  rudder 


21 8  DESCRIPTIVE    PIECES. 

and  paddles  touch,  and  the  nicely  balanced  fabric  will 
slip  from  wave  to  wave,  with  the  lightness  and  velocity 
of  the  balloon,  and  meeting  the  resistance  of  the  air 
alone  ;  but  moving,  nevertheless,  with  all  the  steady 
security  of  a  steamer,  finding  propelling-resistance  and 
steerage-way,  in  the  denser  medium  of  water.  He 
grows  eloquent  as  he  expatiates  on  the  feasibility,  the 
economy,  the  safety,  the  speed.  He  gives  us  the  cost 
in  dollars,  tells  how  beautifully  the  fair  craft,  Nautilus- 
like,  shall  fold  the  silk}7  tissues  of  the  balloon,  when 
the  storm  is  too  powerful  and  head  winds  assail  her,  to 
come  forth  more  beautiful,  on,  or  rather  above,  the 
assuaged  element.  Finally,  with  formulas  and  stochio- 
metrical  deductions  innumerable,  he  shows  conclusively 
how  little  burden  or  expense  to  the  ship  would  be  the 

SO3.HO  +  Zn=SO,ZnO  +  H  or  HCH  Zn=ZnCl  +  H, 
necessary  to  the  production  of  hydrogen  to  fill  the  bal- 
loon, if  once  collapsed  by  stress  of  weather.     Where 
is  the  Great  Eastern  ? 

Another  hour  and  a  half  brings  us  to  the  Islands. 
"  Keep  outside  the  spar-buoys,"  which  the  Captain 
facetiously  terms  "  pugilists,"  and  once  by  this  confused 
jumble  of  rocks  and  sand-bars,  we  are  in  the  narrow 
channel,  and  what  is  worse,  in  a  calm,  with  no  means 
of  determining  what  will  come  next,  a  puff  off  the 
land,  or  a  white  squall.  The  hamper  and  the  ice-bucket 
are  examined.  Then  we  all  join  the  Doctor  in  the 
tobacco  movement  ;  for,  save  while  he  was  eating,  his 
pipe  has  been  between  his  teeth  since  we  got  under 
sail.  Still  nothing  to  help  us  in  another  mile,  no  mo- 
tive power  save  tide,  and  Kidd  himself  never  could 
have  calculated  the  multiplicity  of  eddies  among  these 
countless  rocks.  So  dreamily  we  puff  the  fragrant 
clouds,  more  dreamily  gaze  down  into  the  placid  wave 


THE  THIMBLE  ISLANDS.  2IQ 

— not  the  pure  green  of  mid-ocean  truly,  but  yet  far 
other  than  the  muddy  brackish  stuff  in  the  harbor ;  and 
we  look  down 

"  Far  through  the  wine-dark  depths  of  the  crystal,  the  gardens  of 

Nereus, 
"  Coral  and  sea-fan  and  tangle,  the  blooms  and  the  palms  of  the 

ocean, 
"Silvery  fish,  wreathed  shell,  and  the  strange  lithe  things  of  the 

water." 

Or  as  the  Captain  less  poetically  suggests,  "  we  see 
sharks  in  the  eel-grass." 

But  you  were  right ;  that  cloud  to  southeast  is  rolling 
up  a  little  and  will  give  us  a  blow.  There  it  comes, 
ruffling  the  smooth  surface,  now  lashing  it.  Lucky  it  is 
that  we  have  her  head  well  up  into  it.  Now  make  Pot 
Rock  and  the  cove  before  we  get  the  heaviest  of  it !  or 
we  shall  be  put  to  our  swimming.  Let  the  jib  stand  ! 
Haul  it  a  little  closer  with  the  main  !  She  reels  to  it 
gallantly,  but  heavier  comes  the  gale  ;  we  cling  close  to 
the  weather  gunwale,  but  are  almost  buried  to  leeward. 
Steady  in  this  narrow  inlet !  that  is  a  rock  which  grates 
the  rudder,  but  we  are  already  in  the  lee  of  the  island, 
and  now  through  between  these  big  wave-worn  ledges, 
and  in  Capt.  Kidd's  famous  hiding-place,  quiet  enough, 
deep  and  fair  anchorage-ground. 

We  thought  it  tried  our  nerves  a  little  coming  through 
here  in  this  little  thing,  but  consider  the  skill  it  would 
take  to  jam  a  heavy  armed  pirate  through  these  wind- 
ings !  But  here  Kidd  used  to  lie  at  anchor,  concealed 
by  the  high  rocks  and  trees  of  a  perfect  circle  of  islands, 
with  more  than  one  channel,  dangerous  and  intricate  to 
protect  him.  Hard  up  your  helm  !  Lay  her  right  into 
that  small  cove!  Let  go  main  sheet!  Now  we  will 
make  all  ship-shape  and  see  his  look  out,  the  top  of 


22O  DESCRIPTIVE   PIECES. 

this  hill}'  island.  Here  is  the  celebrated  punch-bowl 
in  the  rock,  big  as  a  barrel  ;  and  near  by,  his  scarcely 
traceable  initials.  But  how  the  wind  beats  this  side  of 
the  island  !  We  are  fortunately  out  of  it :  it  is  grand 
to  look  at,  this 

"  Crashing  and  Japping  of  waters,  and  sighing  and  tossing  of  weed- 
beds, 
Gurgle,  and  whisper  and  hiss  of  the  foam,  and  thundering  surges." 

But  if  the  worst  of  it  had  come  first,  where  you  see  are 
white  breakers  already,  we  should  have  had  but  an  un- 
seaworthy  craft  to  get  back  in,  at  best. 

These  rocks,  black  and  dirty  at  low  tide,  are  broken 
by  many  a  reedy  inlet,  where  sea  fowl  love  to  hide,  as 
close  and  cunning  as  so  many  pirates.  We  have  a  ren- 
dezvous for  sleeping  and  eating,  for  Pot  Rock  boasts  a 
hotel,  very  caravansary  like,  but  yet  a  hotel.  We  shoot 
a  great  deal  and  hit  some. 

Captain  explains  the  divers  species  of  game.  Doctor 
becomes  hilarious,  and  talks  up  a  camel  store  of  con- 
versational exertion.  We  have  shot  away  all  our  pow- 
der— would  that  we  had  its  equivalent ! — and  "  want  to 
go  home,"  but  there  are  white-caps  enough  outside  yet 
and  it  takes  a  good  hand  to  keep  a  boat  steady  before 
such  a  fickle  wind,  gusty  and  strong. 

However,  Doctor  must  go  home,  for  he  is  out  of  to- 
bacco. Captain  must  go  or  the  "Biddy"  will  ruin  his 
aquarium  again.  You  must  go  or  you  will  not  get 
"  that  Philosophical,"  and  I  must  go  or  I  shall  be  ship- 
ped from  college.  The  tide  is  full  and  covers  the  rocks 
that  were  troublesome  at  ebb  ;  we  shall  not  handle  the 
staunch  little  Gem  very  badly,  and,  if  at  worst,  we  do 
go  over,  we  are  all  better  at  swimming,  and  far  more 
likely  to  distinguish  ourselves  in  that  way.  So  furl 


THE  THIMBLE   ISLANDS.  221 

your  jib  close  ! — reef  the  mainsail  ! — stow  everything 
snug,  and  risk  the  wetting.  All  very  pretty  boys'  play 
till  we  run  out  into  open  water,  but  now  how  we  pitch 
about  !  Nice  work,  but  not  so  wet  as  might  be,  and 
cannot  last  long  at  this  speed.  How  we  leap  through 
it !  A  half  hour,  and  then  another,  still  we  are  right 
side  up  and  confident  enough,  now  we  are  afloat. 
The  wind  has  got  a  little  northerly,  and  these  chop- 
ping cross-seas  off  the  Light,  wash  us  beautifully. 
They  are  poor  sportsmen,  however,  who  cannot  take  a 
bath  at  any  moment,  and  like  it,  or  at  least  pretend  to 


"  Nature  never  did  betray 
The  heart  that  loved  her." 

AMONG  the  facilities  offered  for  acquiring  an  educa- 
tion by  New  Haven,  I  count  its  natural  facilities  as  by 
no  means  the  most  insignificant.  "To  eat,  drink  and 
be  merry,"  we  do  not  ask  a  scriptural  confirmation  to 
assure  us,  is  not  the  formula  of  the  healthiest  philoso- 
phy. If  board  and  lodging  are  the  only  noble  objects, 
if  there  be  no  kindly  influence  in  virtuous  emotion,  or 
no  discipline  in  the  exercise  of  the  most  refined  enjoy- 
ment, then  let  us  stick  close  to  the  atmosphere  of  anti- 
quated literature,  or  enshroud  ourselves  in  the  mustiness 
which  our  libraries  afford.  Nevertheless  man  cannot 
live  by  erudition  alone  ;  and  if  he  give  himself  up  to 
Greece  and  Rome  so  completely  that  he  is  always  a  few 
thousand  years  behind  his  times,  his  whole  life  will  be 
a  prolonged  endeavor  to  re-heathenize  the  world.  I 
however,  am  bold  to  say,  that  it  may  be  worth  our  while 
to  study  the  "books  in  the  running  brooks  ;"  and  that 
we  are  standing  quite  as  near  our  Creator  when  the  sky 
only  is  over  us,  as  when  reading  the  mummified  morals 
which  have  never  been  accepted  in  any  period  of  his- 
tory. 

Better  than  a  good  Greek  recitation  or  an  original  de- 
monstration in  Euclid  ;  nay,  even  better  than  a  meer- 
schaum and  a  hand  at  whist  in  a  fetid  room,  is  a  walk  to 
West  Rock, — with  its  view  of  the  city  and  the  distant 


AMBULATORY.  223 

meadows,  where  Mill  River,  like  an  antediluvian  snake 
winds  toward  the  Sound  ;  with  its  prospect  of  the  Giant 
sleeping  in  his  majestic  calm  ;  with  its  Judges'  Cave, 
and  all  the  neighboring  trees  whispering  as  you  come 
up — "  So,  let  us  see  how  this  fellow  worships  here  !"  in 
a  word,  with  its  balms  of  lively  pulse,  and  purified 
thought,  and  gentler  sympathies  toward  all  mankind. 
The  writer  of  this  is  of  a  phlegmatic  temperament,  and 
yet  if  he  ever  does  feel  like  calling  for  a  lyre,  it  is  when 
he  looks  out  upon  that  file  of  grand  old  hills,  which 
have  been  halting  for  some  centuries  beyond  the  west- 
ern boundary  of  this  city.  He  has  seen  them  by  a  clear 
summer  dawn,  when  they  seem  to  lie  along  the  horizon 
with  such  a  wealth  of  good-natured  strength  that,  in  his 
enthusiasm,  he  has  wished  to  be  broad-armed  enough  to 
hug  their  shaggy  bosoms.  Or  he  has  seen  them  on  a 
dark  November  day,  when  they  loomed  up  sullen  and 
impregnable,  as  a  heavy  grief  upon  the  mind. 

He  saw  them  at  another  time.  It  had  been  a  sulphur- 
ous Independence  Day ;  and  a  friend  and  himself — 
hunted  from  one  lurking  to  another  by  clash  and  clang 
unceasing — fled  by  night  from  the  city  toward  West 
Rock,  as  it  basked  mellow  and  beautiful  under  the  full 
moonlight.  The  uproar  died  away,  long  before  we 
reached  its  base,  and  changed  to  utter  stillness  as  we 
stood  upon  its  summit.  We  sat  down  there  lifted  up 
toward  the  heaven.  Below  us  in  the  town,  we  knew 
there  was  a  horrid  din  and  horrid  smell  of  brimstone, 
loud  obscenity  and  swearing,  and  swarms  of  vicious 
thoughts ;  while  here  all  was  serene  and  noiseless, 
except  when  a  foreign  sound  came  softly  floating  in 
upon  us.  We  had  gone  out  feverish  with  trivial  ambi- 
tions, and  saddened  by  ephemeral  sorrows,  but  the 
night-wind  was  taking  them  away. 


224  DESCRIPTIVE   PIECES. 

It  went  hard  with  our  self  pride  at  that  time.  It 
went  hard  to  listen,  in  that  still  hour,  to  the  whispers 
of  the  heart,  and  find  them  passionate  and  guilty.  It 
went  hard  to  gaze  up  at  the  calm,  rebuking  stars,  and 
feel  our  sophistry  falling  off  and  leaving  us  naked  and 
pitiful.  But  it  brought  a  deep  peace,  thus,  as  it  were,  to 
own  our  shame  on  that  high  place  before  the  Universe. 
And  the  smaller  peaks  were  watching  us,  yet  we  knew 
they  would  not  babble  any  of  the  secrets  we  might  trust 
to  them  :  our  little  confidence,  along  with  other  stranger 
things,  we  felt  would  be  forever  unbetrayed,  till  the 
Great  Command  should  thrill  them  into  speech.  After 
much  meditation,  we  started  to  descend,  feeling  our 
way  with  caution  lest  we  might  slip  and  dash  ourselves 
to  pieces  ;  and  turning  toward  our  city  dungeon,  we  left 
the  gray  Rock  with  its  mystery,  to  Silence  and  the 
Night. 

Old  Rock,  so  often  eulogized  by  College  rhymers, 
I  too  would  add  a  thankful  word,  however  clumsily 
it  may  be  spoken.  Thou  hast  strengthened  me  when 
weak,  hast  cheered  me  when  cast  down,  hast  chastened 
every  dangerous  speculation.  As  I  go  wandering 
abroad,  I  may,  indeed,  see  many  more  pretending 
mountains,  but  thy  memory — clinging  with  other  Col- 
lege recollections — shall  often  call  me  back  and  make 
me  once  again  the  wayward  student  of  past  years. 
From  the  youth  who  comes  up  here  to  Yale,  thou  wilt 
attract  less  giddy  pupils  ;  and  unto  these  as  unto  me, 
thou  shalt  become  a  stern  yet  faithful  teacher,  whose  in- 
telligence shall  not  grow  dim  with  age.  Our  instructors 
may  be  slow  to  see  thy  influence,  but  thou  art  greater 
than  them  all  ;  worshipped  with  a  higher  love  and 
served  with  a  more  perfect  obedience. 

But  the  "  melancholy  days  "  of  rain  and  frost  must 


AMBULATORY.  225 

have  their  rule,  when  hygienic  law  prohibits  strolling  off 
among  the  hills.  Yet  must  we  break  with  Nature  dur- 
ing the  long  winter  months?  Trust  me,  if  we  are  fair- 
weather  friends,  we  shall  get  but  scanty  pleasure  from 
her  acquaintance.  "  Why  does  not  every  one  (who  can 
afford  it),"  asks  Leigh  Hunt  in  his  graceful  way,  "have 
a  geranium  in  his  window  or  some  other  flower?  It 
sweetens  the  air,  rejoices  the  eye,  links  you  with  nature 
and  innocence,  and  is  something  to  love."  I  fear  that 
certain  of  us  will  put  the  idea  to  flight,  as  sentimental 
and  unmanly,  and  feel  it  more  ennobling  to  tipple  vigor- 
ously, and  shrivel  into  that  dismal  being  known  as  a 
jolly  blade. 

I  will  turn  from  these  then,  and  ask  the  gentle-men 
among  us,  why  they  do  not  act  upon  the  hint,  and 
detain  one  of  these  tiny  hostages  for  the  return  of 
milder  skies.  The  little  elf  will  charm  away  with  its 
soft  presence  the  coarser  feelings  which  the  lustiness  of 
young  life  is  apt  to  call  into  being,  and  a  score  of  times 
each  day,  will  thrust  its  cheerfulness  upon  your  gloomy 
reveries.  There  is  a  prevalent  opinion  that  birds  and 
flowers  are  fit  for  girls,  but  that  a  boy  to  be  noble  and 
hearty  and  in  no  respect  a  milksop,  must  put  away  in- 
nocent things,  and  get  a  little  of  the  fiery  flavor  of  sin  ; 
that  men  respect  him  more,  and  women  smile  upon  him 
sooner  when  he  has  a  small  coloring  of  vice.  Hence  he 
indulges  in  semi-profanely  words,  chews  tobacco  and 
demeans  himself  stoutly,  in  order  to  gain  the  poor  name 
of  a  plucky  mettled  fellow.  I  am  not  sure  but  this 
would  be  quite  to  the  credit  of  a  cannibal,  but  I  am  sure 
that  it  is  totally  repugnant  to  the  spirit  of  civilization. 
Just  look  at  it !  God  has  been  exhibiting  before  us  a 
series  of  magnificent  cloud-paintings,  each  day  renewed  ; 
He  has  touched  the  forests  with  a  loveliness  of  color  in- 
8 


226  DESCRIPTIVE   PIECES. 

conceivable  ;  at  His  command  the  flowers  have  been 
blossoming  ever  since  the  world  was  made,  and  yet  man 
has  gone  on  disregarding  all  these  pleasures,  until  a 
good  part  of  the  planet's  probation  has  already  passed. 
We  ought,  then,  in  this  century,  to  make  up  for  our  lost 
time.  How  many  sunsets  and  how  many  autumns  have 
faded  away  unenjoyed  !  Now,  when  our  minds  are  so 
impressible,  we  ought  to  cherish  all  the  more  exalted 
feelings,  and  remember  that  the  birds,  shrubs,  cliffs,  and 
skies,  are  all  that  remain  as  the  Almighty  made  them — 
the  last  surviving  treasures  of  an  incomparable  creation. 

When  I  enter  a  student's  room  and  find  a  hyacinth  on 
his  window,  or  a  bird  making  music  just  outside  of  it, 
I  feel  immediate  respect  for  him.  I  say  to  myself  that 
he  is  one  probably  who  honors  father  and  mother,  who 
will  not  overreach  you  in  a  bargain,  and  will  give  you 
pleasant  words  oftener  than  sharp.  For  there  is  such  a 
delicate  admission  of  the  amenities  of  life  here,  that  he 
cannot  be  entirely  depraved.  Besides,  it  is  not  altogeth- 
er fanciful  that  it  may  educate  him  somewhat.  As  the 
bulb  gave  no  sign  of  its  expanded  splendor,  so  may 
there  be  in  some  nook  of  his  heart  an  undeveloped 
affection  ;  and  as,  day  by  day,  he  notices  the  swelling 
shoot,  putting  forth  leaves  and  crowning  itself  with  a 
wondrous  blossom,  so  may  the  affection  grow  greener, 
and  in  the  end  burst  into  perennial  beauty. 

The  man  who  loves  the  country,  I  repeat,  cannot  be  a 
bad  man.  Many  fine  fellows  doubtless  take  to  it  easily, 
when  the  partridge  is  in  season,  but  let  us  beware  how 
we  bestow  upon  them  for  it,  unjust  praise.  Nature  is 
plain  honesty.  No  print  of  earthly  fingers  on  her  hills 
and  leaves  and  streams  !  Springing  into  life  fresh  from 
the  hand  of  Him  with  whom  is  only  truth,  she  strikes  a 
discord  in  the  dishonest  soul  ;  the  insincerity  of  city 


AMBULATORY.  227 

life  chimes  with  its  inclination — the  canvas  landscapes 
of  the  theatre  are  nearer  to  its  liking.  But  to  him  who 
has  not  parted  with  all  sentiments  of  virtue,  rural  life 
presents  a  fascination  which  cannot  be  imitated.  It  is 
continually  warning  him  by  its  eternity  of  his  mortality  ; 
and  teaching,  by  day  or  night,  how  small  an  atom  he  is 
of  the  creation.  Twice  in  my  life,  at  least,  I  have  been 
humble.  Once  in  a  bright  midnight  when  I  looked  down 
over  our  western  Babylon  with  its  crowded  ulcerous 
civilization,  and  saw  the  Pleiades  overhead,  "like  big 
eyes  glistening  with  tears  over  the  little  lot  of  man  ;" 
and  again  when  I  watched  alone  through  the  night  on 
the  bank  of  a  great  river — whose  waters  had  conquered 
three  thousand  miles  of  their  rapid  journey  to  the  Gulf 
— with  starlight  above  me,  and  a  wilderness  on  either 
side. 

It  is  not  probable,  however,  that  we  shall  take  much 
notice  of  Nature  as  an  educator,  for  many  years  to  come. 
Half  a  century  hence,  however,  when  our  woods  are 
hewn  away  and  our  hills  blotched  over  with  unsightly 
tenements,  our  sons  shall  begin  to  appreciate  the  bless- 
ings which  their  fathers  cast  aside.  Our  character, 
moreover,  will  by  that  time  have  been  changed,  or  rather, 
formed.  We  shall  have  recovered  from  the  abominable 
habit  of  calling  Tennyson  pretty,  and  of  labeling  all 
books  as  "  summer  literature,"  which  do  not  concern 
eating  or  trafficking.  We  shall,  in  some  measure  at 
least,  by  that  time,  have  got  dissatisfied  with  the  cold  de- 
ductions of  the  reason  and  have  begun  to  listen  to  the 
intuitions  of  the  heart. 

And  yet,  as  it  is,  I  do  not  leave  off  hoping  that  these 
country  rambles  may  be  of  use  to  us.  We  may  be  des- 
tined to  be  bound  by  the  omnipotent  incentives  of  daily 
bread  to  a  desk  in  the  darkest  corner  of  a  dark  count- 


228  DESCRIPTIVE   PIECES. 

ing-room.  How  pleasant  then  to  take  with  us  into  the 
dreary  den,  a  memory  of  sunlight  and  violets  !  Be- 
grimed as  we  shall  be  with  the  cares  of  business,  we 
will  require  all  such  memories  to  keep  us  from  becom- 
ing altogether  worldly. 


Sailors. 

TCOVTIUV  Tt  KVfiaTUV 


I  DREAMED  of  the  summer  sea.  Not  when  we  had 
strolled  together  in  the  dying  twilight,  and  had  seen 
the  first  rays  of  the  stars  glitter  on  the  sleeping  tides, 
for  it  was  not  to  "  the  many  rippling  laughter  of  the 
music  of  the  sea,"  I  listened  then,  and  the  words  I  read 
upon  the  hard  white  sand,  tide-waves  never  traced 
there,  though,  when  the  moon  rose,  they  had  hid  them. 

Nor,  when  we  sat,  at  noon,  in  the  cool  shade  of  a 
sheltering  rock,  where  the  sea-breeze  fanned  us,  did  I 
watch  only  the  surf  and  the  rollicking  bathers,  or 
hearken  in  silent  musing  to  the  grand  roar  of  the  break- 
ers' surge  that  now  and  then  rolled  in  to  the  highest 
beach  and  dashed  our  faces  with  its  showery  spray. 
There  was  little  romance  in  my  dream. 

The  crew  had  been  at  Captain  Brooks'  all  the  morn- 
ing, our  last  day  there,  "  black-leading  "  the  boat,  and 
after  the  last  finishing  touches  had  been  given  to  the 
smooth  surface  from  kelson  to  top-streak,  we  had 
turned  her  right  side  up  again,  that  the  fresh  varnish 
might  not  blister.  So,  while  the  others  were  bearing  a 
hand  in  carrying  out  some  boat  from  the  narrow  winter 
quarters  of  the  cellar,  or  laughing  at  the  eager  Fresh- 
men who  were  vainly  endeavoring  to  extricate  some  old 
barge  (newly  purchased),  from  the  perplexing  intrica- 
cies of  Thatcher's  storage,  —  I  climbed  up  to  the  loft 


230  DESCRIPTIVE  PIECES. 

and  lay  upon  the  roof  of  the  shed,  enjoying  in  "  solitary 
grandeur "  a  quiet  cigar,  in  disobedience  of  the  race 
rules — and  looking  down  upon  a  scene  amusingly  ani- 
mated. Yet  those  fellows,  blundering  there  over  that 
old  tub,  by  the  best  of  practice,  heavy  rowing,  will  soon 
learn  to  pull  their  new  shell  against  our  crack  oars. 
That  deep  narrow  cockle-shell  they  are  spending  so 
much  admiration  upon  is  the  ill-fated  Volante.  They 
will  laugh  at  its  round  log-like  sides  before'they  gradu- 
ate. Calthrop  is  laughing  at  it  now — to  his  boys. 

There  I  lay  up  on  that  roof  beside  the  old  canvas- 
covered  spyglass  which  has  watched  the  first  boat  round 
the  buoy  in  so  many  a  Yale  race — the  sleeves  of  my  flan- 
nel boating-shirt  rolled  up  to  my  elbows,  and  my  hands 
still  black  with  the  copal  and  lead-dust.  But  I  gazed 
out  over  the  still  bay,  through  the  light  wreath  of 
smoke,  and  through  the  vapory  haze  that  seemed  but  a 
vail  to  cover  the  fair  face  of  the  harbor — whose  winds 
and  waves  were  sleeping — and  I  dreamed  too.  A  boat- 
man came  from  across  the  water — much  unlike  the 
ancient  mariner.  Young,  almost  boyish,  his  light  foot 
and  broad  shoulders,  the  stout  arm  his  blue  shirt  cov- 
ered, told  me  he  was  a  boatman,  as  well  as  his  hard, 
brown  hand,  that  clasped  mine  with  a  good-natured 
grip,  that  almost  crushed  my  fingers.  It  was  a  wonder 
it  did  not  wake  me. 

He  told  me  of  Yale's  first  race — the  training — the  boats 
— the  stroke,  and  said  our  quick  stroke  system  is  still 
wrong,  then  showed  me  how  it  must  be  altered — and 
the  models  of  our  boats  changed..  This  information  is 
of  course  private — except  to  the  Commodore.  He  con- 
sidered Calthrop's  ideas  on  the  subject  orthodox,  but 
when  I  showed  him  the  account  of  "An  English  boat- 
race,"  he  smiled  rather  ironically,  and  said  it  was  fool- 


OUR   SAILORS.  231 

ish  to  throw  away  one's  hat — that  a  "  bump-race  "  was 
only  a  scrub  at  best,  and  nothing  to  "  along-side,"  as  at 
Putney-on-Thames.  And  while  he  was  making  some 
dry  remarks  about  keeping  cool — the  boats  and  yard 
seemed  to  vanish,  and  I  was  showing  him  our  practice. 

It  is  morning  then,  early  morning,  the  air  keen  and 
bracing,  the  dew  brushes  off  in  sparkling  drops,  if  you 
touch  the  grass  by  the  walk. 

A  short  run  together  up  "  Tutor's  lane,"  takes  the 
place  of  our  ordinary  four  mile  stretch,  which  is  too 
much  for  the  day  of  the  race.  After  a  sponge-bath,  we 
sit  down  to  breakfast  with  a  huge  appetite,  and  the  rare 
beefsteak  and  eggs  disappear  at  a  rate  which  would 
alarm  any  but  boating  men,  and  which  raises  the  market 
price  at  every  mouthful. 

The  juices  of  the  meat  run  almost  red,  and  Stroke,  as 
he  passes  his  plate  for  the  third  cut,  quietly  asks  for 
"  a  little  more  of  the  gore." 

After  breakfast  we  walk  briskly  to  the  boat-house, 
where  they  are  already  putting  the  fresh  lead  on  the 
boat.  The  air  is  as  clear  as  before  breakfast,  but  the 
wind  is  south-east  and  in  puffs,  and  those  light  feathery 
clouds  are  a  little  ragged. 

Put  on  the  lead  boys,  polish  her  up  to  the  gunwales  ! 
We  shall  have  a  spanking  breeze  and  white-caps  enough 
by  ten. 

So  goes  the  morning,  till  carefully  launching  our  boat, 
each  in  place — "Push  off!  Ready!  Port  give  way! 
Give  way  all  !  "  and  we  are  off. 

Down  the  river  on  a  spurt  to  warm  up  a  little — then 
round  by  Riker's  and  through  the  draw — out  into  the 
open  bay.  There  !  that's  racing  water  for  you,  long 
enough  and  broad  enough — no  sickly-yellow  river.  On 
this  course  "  bumping"  is  ruled  foul,  and,  when  the  full 


232  DESCRIPTIVE   PIECES. 

ebb  covers  the  mud  shoals  close  in,  it  is  ocean  water 
that  floats  us,  and  the  waves  curl  and  their  foam-crests 
flash  with  the  lustre  of  the  real  briny  sea,  which  gives 
vigor  to  the  very  breeze. 

What  a  crowd  on  shore  !  more  than  one  of  those  hand- 
kerchiefs are  waving  at  us, — and,  as  each  race-boat 
comes  up,  its  own  club  cheers. 

The  French  yacht  shows  her  colors  as  we  pass,  and 
see  the  bonnet-strings  flutter  from  her  deck — "  Ready 
oars  !  Peak  ! "  so  answering  her  salute  we  pull  leis- 
urely by  and  saluting  the  Commodore,  take  position 
(by  lot)  outside.  There  are  all  colors  of  boating-shirts 
about  us — some  on  shore  with  the  ladies,  some  in  boats, 
some  by  that  line  of  carriages,  some  in  the  sailing  craft 
that  are  everywhere  dashing  about.  But  here,  in  line, 
are  no  "light  blue  jerseys,"  nothing  but  white — white 
duck  pants — white  close-fitting  knit  shirts — white  skull 
caps.  It  is  the  boats  we  must  distinguish. 

Inside  next  the  Commodore,  that  little  sharp  four- 
oar,  with  those  bearded  fellows,  is  pulled  by  men  from 
the  Scientific  School.  We  give  her  twenty-four  seconds 
handicap.  The  next,  that  straw-colored  boat  with  the 
beautiful  rise  of  the  bow,  is  a  St.  John's  built  boat,  cel- 
ebrated as  a  winner  of  more  than  one  race,  and  called  a 
splendid  sea-boat.  Here  next  us  is  the  champion  of 
last  year,  also  a  fine  weather-boat,  with  a  new  but  pow- 
erful crew,  and  our  boat,  long  and  low,  is  as  straight  as 
an  arrow  on  the  keel,  (you  can  see  her  timber  as  you  sit 
here  in  her),  but  wide  on  the  gunwale  amidships,  and 
you  see  the  sheer  of  her  sides,  and  how  each  of  these 
rolling  swells  hits  her.  How  those  white-caps  outside 
will  toss  her  ! 

Now  what  are  we  racing  for?  for  we  have  no  "head 
of  the  river."  Do  you  see  that  flag  in  the  Commodore's 


OUR   SAILORS.  233 

hand,  a  little  the  coarsest  and  most  weather-beaten 
piece  of  blue  bunting  you  ever  saw,  and  nailed  to  an 
old  green  staff?  "  Pioneer  Yale  No.  i."  That  is  the 
first  flag  that  a  Yale  boat  ever  carried.  The  winners 
are  to  keep  it  as  the  "  champion  flag "  until  they  are 
beaten  or  graduate.  And  it  is  for  that  old  blue  bunting 
that  we  are  ready  to  pull  as  long  as  we  can  see  to  keep 
stroke.  There  !  now  we  are  in  line — "  Back  a  little  ! " 
That's  it !  No  coxswain  holds  to  a  stake.  The  little 
four-oar  and  ours  carry  none.  That  is  the  flag-boat 
right  off  the  bow,  a  point  or  two  to  leeward.  See  the 
stripes  flutter — just  a  speck  at  a  mile  and  a  half.  "  Keep 
her  so !  steady !"  The  Commodore  rises.  "  Ready 
all  ! "  "  Give  way  !  "  Do  you  feel  that  spring  from  the 
oar  blades  ?  Is  it  not  worth  your  training  to  feel  that 
one  bound — the  bound  of  your  heart  and  the  boat  to- 
gether? But  those  rising  bows  and  quick  deep  stroke 
win  the  start  from  us.  Did  you  say  the  crowd  cheered  ? 
That  is  for  the  four-oar.  But  we  do  not  hear  it  for  we 
are  behind  and  pulling  like  mad  for  the  lead.  "  Steady 
men  ! "  "  Steady  and  cool  ! — you  are  pulling  wild. 
Strong  and  together  ! "  Now  our  shoulders  come  back 
with  real  old  swing — "  long  in  reach  and  quick  on  the 
feather" — and  our  long  sweeping  strokes  are  beginning 
to  tell — the  four-oars'  bow  just  opposite  the  waist 
thwarts,  and  the  St.  John's  stem  for  stem  with  us. 

"  Stead y  and  hard."  We  are  beyond  the  wharves 
and  now  we  catch  it.  "  Feather  flat  against  this  wind  ! " 
Swash — sh — sh — the  bowsman  gets  a  drenching,  and 
now  the  waists,  but  only  a  few  drops  in  the  bottom. 
"  Not  a  miss-stroke  now  for  your  lives !  Careful 
men  !  " 

Steady  and  hard  again  for  half  a  mile  more,  stem  and 
stem — the  four-oar  hugging  close,  and  "  Now  men  we 


234  DESCRIPTIVE   PIECES. 

must  turn  the  stake-boat  first  while  our  low  bows  favor 
us — Jump  her  !  Hard  !  "  and  away  we  go,  springing  to 
the  oars  with  a  vigor  that  strains  every  muscle  from 
hand  to  shoulder,  and  from  shoulder  to  foot. 

But  they  throw  themselves  to  the  spurt  with  all  their 
strength,  and  it  is  only  inch  by  inch  that  we  draw  away 
from  them.  "  Now  work  !  Hard  and  strong  !  Hard  !" 
It  is  here  that  shoulders  and  thighs,  and  training,  and 
pluck  tell.  They  cannot  stand  this  with  us,  and  their 
stroke  is  flagging.  Now  there  is  a  boat's  length  be- 
tween us,  and  now  another. 

"  Hard  for  one  more  !  Pull  now  with  a  will  !"  and 
"  Hold  water  starboard  !  Hard  a-Port  !  Careful  as  we 
go  round,  steady  ! "  Never  mind  the  splashing,  the 
spray  only  gives  us  a  fiercer  glow.  We  only  ship  a  hat- 
full  or  so,  and  round  the  stake-boat  with  a  clear  length 
start — though  the  sheer  of  the  keel  makes  those  lifting 
bows  there  turn  as  on  a  pivot. 

Away  we  spring  on  the  home-stretch.  Did  anything 
ever  make  your  blood  leap  like  this  ?  Shall  you  shout  ? 
Shall  you  throw  away  your  hat?  Bless  you  !  you  would 
not  know  you  ever  had  a  hat,  and  as  your  fingers  clench 
the  oar  with  a  nervous  grip,  and  your  breath  comes  hot 
and  heavy,  and  your  head  swims  with  the  exertion,  you 
could  not  think  of  shouting  any  more  than  of  flagging 
— of  anything  but  the  stout  strain  to  the  oar  and  your 
feather.  And  you  would  not  exchange  the  free  heav- 
ing of  your  chest,  the  swelling  joy  in  your  throat,  for 
royalty ;  for  your  heart  beats  prouder,  more  exulting, 
and  you  love  your  swift  boat,  and  the  stout  fellows  with 
you,  with  a  hardy  sailor's  love  that  sighing  swains  can- 
not dream  of. 

Round  they  come  with  us,  but  the  little  four-oar  is 
too  sharp  for  this  weather  and  lags  behind,  dragging 


OUR   SAILORS.  235 

and  water-logged,  but  now  the  wind  fills  the  high  bows 
of  the  St.  John's  and  the  Champion  as  it  would  a  sail, 
and  how  they  come  down  for  us.  But  it  is  the  home- 
stretch, and  we  hold  them  by  hard  pulling,  and  come  to 
the  wharves  still  on  the  lead  and  spurt  home,  drawing 
well  away  from  them.  Bang  !  Bang  !  the  Frenchman 
salutes  us,  and  now  we  can  listen  to  the  ringing  cheers 
from  the  shore,  and  see  the  ensigns  all  about  us  go  up 
to  mast-head,  and  so  trail  alongside  the  Commodore's 
boat,  first  winners  of  the  old  blue  bunting.  And  as  we 
stoop  to  dip  a  handful  of  the  cool  water  to  wet  our 
warm  temples,  we  answer  many  a  nod  of  approval — 
many  a  fluttering  handkerchief — and  in  five  minutes 
more  are  on  shore  shaking  hands  with  our  fellows,  who 
crowd  around  us,  and  then  listening  to  congratulations 
almost  more  acceptable. 

"  But  do  you  not  feel  sick  almost  ?  are  you  not  ex- 
hausted ?  " 

That  is  the  pride  of  our  training — after  cooling  our 
faces  and  a  swallow  of  water,  our  heads  are  as  clear — 
our  nerves  and  pulses  are  as  steady,  as  this  morning, 
and  for  a  six  months  after  our  steps  will  be  lighter,  our 
hearts  beat  more  buoyant  for  the  luxury  of  health  in 
every  vein. 

We  are  trained — not  to  be  battered  in  a  prize  ring 
until  victor  and  vanquished  more  than  undo  all  that  the 
discipline  effected — but  to  feel  the  glowing  exhilara- 
tion of  strength  and  strong  muscle  for  many  a  month, 
and  add  vigor  if  not  years  to  our  future  life.  You  can 
be  happier  and  better  men,  most  of  you,  by  feeling 
even  once  the  generous  rivalry  of  a  boat  race.  And 
here  in  salt  water  and  out  over  the  tossing  Sound  you 
may  become  not  mere  effeminate  "  fresh  water  sailors," 
to  "  make  time  "  on  a  sleepy  river,  but  boatmen  who  shall 


236  DESCRIPTIVE  PIECES. 

pull  daringly  and  strong  against  wind  and  tide.  And 
if  bay  mud  at  low  tide  be  vile,  and  our  arrangements 
not  entirely  the  most  convenient — yet  you  may  learn 
to  shun  filth  and  luxury  together,  and  by  the  coarse 
diet  acquire  a  command  over  your  appetites,  yes  over 
yourself — that  is  not  limited  to  restraint  from  drink  and 
tobacco. 

" — You  Bowsman  !  Come  down  !  " 
"  You  lazy  dog,  you  were  asleep  up  there." 
"  You  have  been  smoking,  you  wretch  " — and  what 
they  said  to  me  for  my  contempt  of  race  rules — just  one 
quiet  dreamy  smoke,  I  prefer  not  to  put  in  type. 


ittonologne  on  ®in  dans. 

" — Meliusne  fluctus 
Ire  per  longos  fuit,  an  recentes 
Carpere  flores." 

— Hor.  Carm.,  III.  27. 

"  Wie  herrlich  leuchtet 

Mir  die  Natur ! 
Wie  gliinzt  die  Sonne, 

Wie  lacht  die  Flur !" 

— GOETHE. 

I  AGREE  with  Horace  that  Botany  is  decidedly  prefer- 
able to  Boating.  I  have  a  mortal  horror  of  a  boating- 
shirt.  It  appears  to  me  I  should  prefer  the  under-gar- 
ment  that  burned  old  Hercules.  There  was  a  time,  it  is 
true,  when  I  rejoiced  in  Freshman  innocency.  There 
was  a  time  when  my  fancies  were  tinged  with  the  blue  of 
the  waves  and  my  thoughts  with  their  countless  laughter. 
But  I  thank  my  stars  that  one  windy  Wednesday  after- 
noon "  relieved  "  me.  "  It's  in  me,"  I  exclaimed  with 
Sheridan,  "  and  it's  bound  to  come  out !"  The  rock  and 
swell  of  those  thick-coming  waves — ugh  !  If  anybody 
has  a  poetic  longing  to  experience  what  John  Bunyan 
calls  "  the  power  and  terror  of  what  is  yet  unseen,"  I 
advise  him  either,  like  Henry  Ward  Beecher,  to  take  a 
front  seat  on  the  cow-catcher  of  some  snowbank-break- 
ing locomotive,  or  else  some  gusty  day  to  try  boating. 

I  have  consequently  taken  to  botany.  My  coat-tails 
may  be  observed  any  Saturday  disappearing  in  the  dim 
distance  of  Tutor's  lane,  or  a  good  achromatic  instru- 


238  DESCRIPTIVE   PIECES. 

ment  may  possibly  distinguish  me  about  five  degrees 
above  the  horizon,  climbing  the  perpendicular  ascent  of 
East  Rock.  As  I  fall  from  "  running  to  going,  and 
from  going  to  clambering  on  my  brands  and  knees,"  I 
have  but  to  look  about  me  to  raise  my  spirits  to  my  own 
proud  elevation.  Right  below  me  stretches  the  forest 
of  New  Haven  Elms,  waving  in  the  sunlight  their  tops 
of  golden  green  ; — far  away  the  shores  of  Long  Island 
lie  on  the  margin  of  the  water  like  a  sea-nymph  sleep- 
ing ; — at  my  feet  the  placid  surface  of  the  bay,  fringed 
with  green  shores  and  broadening  to  the  sea,  mirrors 
back  these  frowning  cliffs,  each  an  Acropolis,  embrac- 
ing, as  Willis  says,  this  city  of  the  Elms  with  quotation 
marks  of  rock,  to  indicate  its  emanation  from  the  mind 
of  Hillhouse.  And  as  far  beneath  my  contempt  as  be- 
neath my  feet,  paddles  a  college  boat  like  a  polywog  in 
a  frog-pond. 

"  But  who  am  I  ?"  I?  I'm  the  man  with  the  tin  can, 
and  the  twelve-and-a-half  cent  hat,  and  the  seven- 
leagued  boots.  I?  I'm  a  lover  of  nature,  and  the 
"  female  persuasion,"  and  of  flowers.  I  am  one  of  the 
noble  army  of  botanists.  I  haunt  the  sacred  Druid 
groves,  cool  when  the  sun  shines  hot,  and  dark  at  noon- 
tide. I  roam  abroad  these  sultry  days  "  on  breezy 
slopes  and  under  God's  own  clear  sky."  I  wander 
apart  from  men,  nourishing  silent  fancies,  and  watching 
the  wondrous  processes  of  nature  in  the  trees,  and 
plants,  and  flowers.  I  rise  before  prayers,  rush  to  the 
fields,  inhale 

The  breath  of  heaven  fresh-blowing,  pure  and  sweet, 
With  dayspring  born, — 

and  on  cloudless  days,  after  a  shower  that  has  washed 
the  tiny  hands  of  the  innumerable  trees,  I  lie  on  the  soft 


MONOLOGUE  ON   TIN   CANS.  239 

warm  earth,  and  listen  to  the  leaves  lisping  the  music  of 
childhood,  and  swelling  ever  and  anon  into  the  congre- 
gational singing  of  the  forest.  And  then  there  comes  a 
lull,  and  I  listen  to  the  silence  of  the  solemn  wood,  and 
thoughts  throng  thick  through  the  silence.  I  think  how 
often  poor  Alton  Locke,  who  had  never  left  the  eternal 
daily  and  nightly  din  of  London,  found  in  his  first  jour- 
ney into  the  gay  green  country,  an  unutterable  mystery 
in  this  same  silence — a  new  world  in  the  quiet.  And  I 
think  that  like  this,  after  the  spirit-strife  of  "  this  dim 
spot  which  men  call  earth,"  with  an  inexpressibly  more 
glorious  and  holy  calm,  may  come  over  the  spirit  the 
perfect  peace  of  Heaven. 

I  carry  out,  better  than  any  of  you  men  who  sleep 
away  your  Saturday  afternoons  in  close  college  rooms, 
the  prescription  of  our  revered  Professor  for  clearest 
vision.  My  cornea  is  lubricated  in  the  right  manner.  I 
lie  on  my  back  and  see  the  stars  through  the  openings 
of  the  trees,  and  when  I  get  tired  of  that,  I  come  to  the 
conclusion  of  Dick  Swiveller  and  take  a  taste  of  "the 
balmy,"  and  as  I've  walked  five  miles  to  get  here,  I  get 
a  clear  idea,  as  I  fall  asleep,  of  that  image  than  which 
there  is  none  more  beautiful  in  all  our  English  poetry  : 

Music  that  gentlier  on  the  spirit  lies 
Than  tired  eyelids  on  tired  eyes. 

I  don't  believe  in  the  Indian  method  of  resting  when 
one  is  tired.  I  tried  it  one  day  to  test  it  fairly.  The  re- 
cipe was  to  take  up  a  stone  of  some  two  hundred 
pounds  weight,  carry  it  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  when  on 
letting  go  of  it  the  patient  would  feel  sensibly  relieved. 
There  may  be  a  difference  in  constitutional  habit,  but  I 
have  given  up  the  remedy  as  not  applying  to  the  pecul- 
iar diagnosis  of  my  own  case.  I  myself  take  a  better 
rest  from  study.  I  take  that  Lord*  Bacon  took.  "  God 


240  DESCRIPTIVE    PIECES. 

Almighty  first  planted  a  garden,  and  indeed  it  is  the 
purest  of  human  pleasures,  and  the  greatest  refreshment 
to  the  spirits  of  man.  There  ought  to  be  gardens  for  all 
months  in  the  year,  in  which  severally  things  of  beauty 
may  be  then  in  season.  And  because  the  breath  of 
flowers  is  sweeter  in  the  air  (where  it  comes  and  goes 
like  the  warbling  of  music),  than  in  the  hand,  therefore 
nothing  is  more  fit  for  that  delight."  And  in  his  direc- 
tions for  the  building  of  a  noble  garden,  he  lays  out 
within  it  a  mimic  wilderness  where  vines  and  trees  may 
twine  together,  and  where  burnet,  wild  thyme  and 
water-mints  may  grow.  All  this  I  enjoy  out  in  the  open 
woods, — no  mimic,  but  a  real  wilderness.  All  about  the 
town  on  warm  and  shady  slopes,  wild  roses  grow ; 
through  moist  meadows  I  catch  the  Arethusa  glimmer- 
ing and  blushing  through  the  grass  ;  on  the  crags  of 
those  twin  rocks  away  up  between  earth  and  sky,  the 
blue  hairbell,  so  often  made  the  image  of  deep  azure 
eyes,  lifts  its  slender  form  and  bends  beneath  the  upper 
breeze  ;  and  on  still  waters  spreads  its  broad  leaves, 
and  opes  its  snow-white  petals  to  the  sun-beams,  the 
queenly  water-lily — so  beautifully  named  by  botanists, 
Nymphaea  odorata. 

There  is  a  name  connected  with  water-lilies  and  all 
pleasant  things,  that  cannot  die  with  some  men  I  know. 
A  generous  man  with  a  generous  enthusiasm  for  flowers, 
and  not  only  an  enthusiasm  for 'flowers,  but  a  skill  and 
progress  in  botanical  science  that  has  won  encomiums 
from  its  masters — a  man  of  a  genial  soul  and  a  large 
heart.  He  gave  all  of  us  our  first  lessons,  he  breathed 
into  us  something  of  his  own  spirit.  Who  doesn't  know 
"Cady"?  You  would,  if  you  had  seen  him  stalk 
proudly  into  a  mill-pond  to  take  possession  of  a  Nu- 
phar  advena  till  the  water  poured  into  his  tin  knapsack, 


MONOLOGUE  ON   TIN   CANS.  24! 

— as  Balboa  "  clad  in  complete  steel,""  long  time  ago 
waded  into  the  Pacific  at  Darien  and  claimed  the  bil- 
lowy sea  for  Spain  and  for  the  Cross.  Were  we  pro- 
phets, we  might  predict  the  culmination  of  his  rising 
star.  But  the  memory  of  his  generous  good-fellowship 
is  written  for  all  of  us  in 

Those  bright  mosaics  that  with  storied  beauty. 
The  floor  of  Nature's  teraale  tesselefe. 

I  met  a  queer  old  man  in  a  charming  place  the  other 
day,  who  told  better  than  I  can,  the  uses  of  these  flowers. 
The  landscape  was  one  which  ought  to  be  better  known 
to  Yale  men.  It  is  on  the  Derby  road  where  the  chan- 
nel of  the  West  River  first  winds  along  its  side,  then 
crosses  it  with  a  sudden  turn.  A  glorious  waste  of 
meadow-grass  on  each  side  the  winding  stream,  is 
flanked  by  green  and  abrupt  banks  that  have  all  the 
look  of  hills.  In  the  distance,  right  before  you,  rises 
clear  and  precipitous,  West  Rock,  with  its  bare,  brown, 
furrowed  face,  printing  its  verdurous  locks  against  the 
sunny  sky,  and  at  its  foot  climbs  half-way  up  the  cliff 
the  tall  and  slender  spire  of  the  village  church.  The 
scene  has  had  painters,  but  it  needs  observers.  I  was 
picking  a  violet  there,  and  a  voice  made  me  start. 
"  How  beautifully  does  a  good  God  deck  the  year  with 
flowers, — changing  every  week,  but  always  beautiful  !" 
I  turned  and  saw  an  old  man,  meanly  dressed,  with  a 
thin  and  sallow  face.  His  short,  straight,  white  hair 
fell  sparingly  down  over  a  forehead  half  hid  by  an  old 
straw  hat.  His  eye,  too,  was  dim  with  age.  "  But  old 
Ireland  far  surpasses  this.  There  the  meadows  are  all 
blooming  the  summer  long.  How  beautiful  were  the 
meadows  on  the  lakes  of  Killarney,  just  where  I  was 
born  !  Just  think  !  three  hundred  and  sixty-six  little 
fairy  islands,  one  for  every  day  in  the  year,  and  one 


242  DESCRIPTIVE   PIECES. 

over  and  above  !  But  it's  there  just  as  it  is  here.  That 
apple  tree  covered  with  blossoms,  how  like  the  Christian 
adorned  with  the  Christian  graces  !  And  every  little 
flower,  how  it  speaks  of  the  boundless  love  of  our 
Heavenly  Father  to  every  one  of  his  poor  and  sinful 
creatures  !"  I  talked  with  the  old  man.  I  found  in  him 
a  specimen  of  the  true  Irish  character,  unlearned  save  in 
the  lore  of  nature  and  of  God,  but  with  a  warm  heart 
and  an  upspringing  love  for  the  beautiful,  and  a  genuine 
Irish  eloquence.  But  that  was  not  the  lesson  I  shall  re- 
member longest.  I  shall  think  of  the  language  the 
flowers  spoke  to  him,  and  to  all  the  humble  and  the 
sorrowing  and  the  poor. 

Heaven  wills  these  simple  things  should  give 
Lessons  to  teach  us  how  to  live, 

Said  Gray,  "  Happy  are  they  who  can  create  a  rose-tree 
or  erect  a  honey-suckle."  I  adopted  the  advice,  but  my 
rose-tree  withered — 

Abortive  as  the  first-born  bloom  of  spring, 
Nipped  by  the  lagging  rear  of  winter's  frost. 

So  I  betake  me  into  the  "  blithe  and  breathing  air,  into 
the  solemn  wood."  There  live  the  flowers  through  all 
the  live-long  summer.  There  I  can  commune  with 
Nature,  and  her  tranquil  mind  sheds  sweet  influence 
over  mine.  There  I  find  in  the  cup  of  the  lily,  or  the 
petals  of  the  forget-me-not,  nay  even  in  the  springing 
spears  of  grass,  lessons  of  tas+e,  of  feeling,  of  poetry,  of 
religion. 


QTljc  OMb  muioersitg 

IF  it  had  ever  been  my  fortune  to  have  had  for  my 
playmate,  in  my  ripe  infancy,  a  little,  laughing,  two- 
year-old  girl,  if  we  had  made  mud  pies  and  sailed  chips 
down  the  gutter  together, — if  we  had  learned  our  let- 
ters and  eaten  molasses-candy  together, — if  I  had  sent 
her  a  valentine, — if,  before  I  had  left  off  my  jacket  for 
a  coat  and  vest,  and  she  her  red  stockings  for  white 
ones,  some  unkind  providence  had  carried  me  away 
from  her  side  and  made  me  live  in  some  other  town, — 
if,  after  I  had  gone,  her  brown  curls  should,  in  time, 
have  been  gathered  up  from  her  shoulders  within  the 
precincts  of  a  net,  and  her  dresses  lengthened  so  as  to 
hide  the  white  stockings, — if  her  cheek  should  have 
come  to  glow  with  the  warm  blood  of  passion  rather 
than  with  childish  health,  and  if  the  laugh  of  her  child- 
ish eye  should  have  deepened  into  the  quick,  passion- 
ate gleam  of  a  maid, — if,  all  unknown  to  me,  she 
should  then  somehow  have  pondered  long,  O  !  far  too 
long,  on  the  strong  and  wild  and  free  loves  of  the 
twittering  birds,  of  flowers,  of  the  murmuring  rivers,  of 
the  earth  and  sky  locked  silent  in  their  long  love- 
embrace,  so  that,  in  time,  she  had  come  to  love  as 
deeply,  as  warmly,  as  freely  as  they, — if  all  this  had 
been,  and,  somehow,  it  had  been  my  lot  in  later  years 
to  have  seen,  in  some  hospital  ward,  her  poor,  gaunt 
form,  or  rather,  her  poor,  bleeding  soul,  stretched  on 
its  dying  bed  ; — it  may  be,  my  reader,  yes,  it  may  be,  I 


244  DESCRIPTIVE  PIECES. 

would  have  turned  away  and  left  my  whilom  playmate 
to  struggle  toward  the  farther  shore  as  best  she  might ; 
but  I  fear  I  would  have  seen  her,  as  kindly  as  I  could, 
out  of  this  world  ;  I  fear  I  would  have  commended 
her,  with  what  earnestness  is  in  me,  to  heavenly  for- 
giveness ;  I  fear  I  would  have  kissed  the  blue  lips  of 
the  foul  outcast,  and  I  fear — and  pray — that,  rescuing 
her  from  the  potter's  field,  I  might  have  seen  well  to  it, 
that  my  little  two-year-old  playmate  was  put  to  rest  in 
some  better  place  ;  that  lilies-of-the-valley  should  bow 
in  pity  over  her  grave  ;  that  green  boughs  of  some  kind 
should  whisper  softly  above  her  mound,  and  that 
among  the  grass-blades  thereof  tears  might  sometimes 
fall. 

I  never  knew  a  dying  girl  for  whom  I  could  have 
done  all  this,  and  I  trust  I  never  shall  know  such  an  one. 
But  for  a  certain  old  boat — now  passed  out  of  existence 
— I  can  perform  such  kindly  office.  She  was  a  comely 
craft  once,  trim  and  stanch.  But  she  was  willful.  And 
as  this  same  baneful  quality  has  wrecked  many  fair 
and  promising  maidens,  so  it  wrecked  this  boat.  Be- 
cause she  would  be  headstrong,  she  brought  upon  her- 
self irretrievable  ruin.  I  knew  her,  though,  in  her 
halcyon  days,  in  her  glory,  when  she  reposed  in  state  on 
the  cross-beams  in  the  boat-house,  with  the  marks  of 
her  victory  at  Worcester  still  about  her — the  black-lead 
still  upon  her  bottom.  And  I  knew  her  afterward,  in 
her  dishonor  and  her  shame  ;  when,  prostrate,  rubbish 
among  rubbish,  she  encumbered  the  boat-house  floor — 
a  shattered  thing.  Now,  I  know  her  only  as  dead. 
Prosperous  was  she,  then  fell,  then  perished.  She  is 
beyond  the  range  of  mortal  help,  and  so  there  is  not 
much  for  a  friend  to  do  for  her.  But,  at  any  rate,  I  can 
see  her  decently  laid  away  in  her  final  home.  I  can,  in 


THE  OLD   UNIVERSITY   SHELL.  245 

relating  her  fall,  palliate  it  perhaps  ;  from  her  fall  I  can 
follow  her  to  her  grave  as  a  mourner  ;  and  there  I  can 
stand  respectfully,  with  my  hat  off,  while  she  passes 
forever  from  mortal  sight.  True,  this  is  not  much  ;  and 
I  cannot  hope  that  my  words  shall  bend  over  her 
crumbling  remains  with  the  beauty  of  lilies-of-the-val- 
ley  over  a  sunny  grave,  nor  that  my  thoughts  shall  ever 
whisper  to  any  reader  half  so  softly  as  green  boughs 
whisper  in  the  summer  air,  nor  that  a  tear-drop  will 
ever  fall  upon  this  page  which  tells  of  her  woe  ;  still,  it 
is  something ;  and  it  will  show  that  I  do  not  wish  to 
disown  her  acquaintance,  even  though  she  does  lie  in  a 
grave  of  shame. 

She  was  a  buxom  bark,  this  old  shell ;  short,  broad 
and  thick-hided — to  the  extent  of  half  an  inch,  I  think. 
But  though  wide,  she  was  not  round  ;  on  the  contrary, 
she  was  rather  scow-shaped,  with  a  broad,  flat  bottom. 
To  this  peculiarity  in  her  structure  I  attributed  all  her 
misdemeanors  ;  this  it  was  that  made  her  willful  on  the 
seas,  perverse  and  headstrong  ;  and  as  she  came  to  her 
destruction  through  her  blind  willfulness,  I  hold  that 
the  real  cause  of  her  ruin  was  this  vile  peculiarity  in 
her  physical  structure  ;  and  since  her  builders  were  ac- 
countable for  her  shape  and  not  she  herself,  I  lay  all 
the  blame  of  her  sad  end  on  them. 

It  was  heart-rqnding  to  watch  the  ways  of  this  per- 
verse craft  on  the  various  excursions  over  the  harbor. 
If  the  water  was  still  enough  down  the  bay  for  the 
doughty  crew  to  venture  without  the  drawbridge,  the 
chances  were  ten  to  one  that  the  witch  of  a  boat  swung 
up  broadside  against" some  dignified  schooner  riding  at 
anchor, — and  that  too  through  no  fault  of  the  coxswain. 
Up  the  river  her  actions  would  have  moved  to  tears, 
had  they  not  excited  to  curses.  Her  principle  of  proced- 


246  DESCRIPTIVE   PIECES. 

ure  was  simply  this  ; — to  yield  herself  up  with  perfect 
passivity  to  the  influence  of  external  circumstances, 
such  as  the  wind  and  tide,  but  to  resist,  with  all  her 
might,  any  attempt  at  controlling  her  from  within, — as 
by  the  rudder,  or  by  "  hard  port  !"  or  "  hard  starboard  !" 
— much  as  we  have  seen  bad  girls  willingly  following 
every  chance  hest  of  their  varying  whims  and  passions, 
but  stamping  in  anger  at  the  kind  admonition  of  a 
mother  !  It  is  always  a  point  among  coxswains  to  avoid 
hitting  oyster-stakes.  With  this  boat  the  attainment  of 
that  point  was  an  impossibility.  If  she  once  took  it  in- 
to her  head  to  brush  up  against  an  oyster-stake,  she 
would  do  it,  despite  the  crew,  despite  the  devil.  I  have 
known  her  to  sheer  clear  across  from  one  side  of  the 
Quinnipiac  to  the  other,  and  then,  against  all  the  efforts 
of  the  crew  to  the  contrary,  leap  for  a  stiff  oyster-stake, 
hit  it,  and  unship  all  the  oars  in  the  boat.  Going  about 
in  this  way,  it  might  have  been  expected  that  the 
flighty  wench  would  some  day  come  to  grief.  And  so 
she  did. 

One  evening  in  June,  we  launched  her  as  usual  from 
the  boat-house  "  float."  There  were,  at  that  time,  sev- 
eral cracks  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat ;  and  as  we  laid 
her  on  the  tide,  she  took  in  through  them  quite  an 
alarming  quantity  of  water.  The  bystanders  on  the 
float,  noticing  this,  remarked  to  us,  laughing,  that  "we 
would  never  come  back  in  that  boat  again."  We  looked 
up  from  our  thwarts  in  piteous  contempt  of  their  ignor- 
ance. That  evening,  too,  a  freshman  on  our  rival  Har- 
vard crew  happened  to  have  come  to  town  to  take  notes 
upon  our  rowing.  He  was  on  the  float  when  we  pushed 
off;  and  seeing  him  there  watching  us,  we  straightway 
set  about  rowing  in  as  poor  time  and  with  as  much 
splashing  as  can  well  be  imagined.  Simple  souls  !  I 


THE   OLD   UNIVERSITY   SHELL.  247 

fear  we  overdid  the  business.  After  getting  round  the 
first  bend  in  the  Quinnipiac,  however,  we  settled  down 
to  regular  work,  and  pulled  up  against  the  tide  as  far  as 
the  "  red  house."  The  water  had  been  perfectly  smooth 
throughout  the  course,  but  the  tide  was  running  out 
with  unusual  velocity.  After  we  had  turned,  the  boat 
was  more  unmanageable  than  ever.  She  swung  about 
on  the  rapid  current,  as  if  she  were  uncertain  whether 
bow  or  stem  ought  to  be  going  down  the  river  first. 
We  were  now  nearing  the  upper  bridge — the  railroad 
bridge — on  our  homeward  course.  On  the  west  side  of 
the  stream  at  this  point,  the  ebb  tide  always  runs, — and 
runs  with  mighty  force,  for  the  channel  narrows  here — 
at  a  45°  angle  with  the  open  passages  between  the  piles  ; 
but,  in  the  middle  of  the  stream,  the  current  runs 
straight  through  one  or  two  of  the  middle  passages  of 
the  bridge,  and  this  is  the  regular  channel  for  all  boats. 
But  our  flat-bottomed  craft,  through  being  flat-bot- 
tomed, had  refused  to  go  anywhere  else  than  toward  the 
westward  bank  of  the  river ;  and  that  was  our  position 
when  we  approached  the  bridge.  We  expected  our 
fate  ;  still,  hope  was  not  altogether  dead  in  our  bosoms. 
"Pull  hard,  now!  harder  !  harder  !"  yelled  the  bow 
oar.  We  were  under  the  bridge.  "  Oars  on  port !"  It 
was  too  late.  Smash  went  the  port  side  against  the 
piles  ;  the  boat  careened  to  port,  filled,  cracked  loudly 
from  stem  to  stern,  and  went  down.  The  action  of  the 
crew  at  this  point  was  diverse.  The  bow-oar  climbed 
an  adjacent  pile  in  good  style.  The  port-bow  followed, — 
wildly  suspending  his  entire  weight  from  the  coxswain's 
feet.  The  starboard-waist  sat  in  the  boat  while  it  set- 
tled, and  when  it  had  settled  too  far  began  to  tread 
water.  The  port-waist  and  starboard-stroke  set  off  in 
high  glee  for  a  long  swim  down  stream.  The  stroke — 


248  DESCRIPTIVE    HECES. 

all  honor  to  him — went  wading  about  in  the  water,  which 
was  not  over  waist  deep  where  he  stood.  It  was  amus- 
ing to  observe  how  large  a  crowd  gathered,  and  how 
quickly  it  gathered,  on  the  Fair  Haven  bridge,  to  wit- 
ness the  disaster.  Multitudes  of  fishermen,  too,  put  off 
from  shore  in  their  boats,  and  hastened  to  the  rescue. 
The  wreck  was  abandoned.  Shivering,  four  of  us  were 
hoisted,  dripping,  into  a  scow,  and  were  rowed,  or 
rather  rowed  ourselves,  down  to  the  boat-house. 

While  walking  up  the  float,  hallooes  were  distinctly 
heard  in  the  still  night  air  (it  was  about  nine  o'clock), 
which  appeared  to  come  from  that  spot  where  the  new 
Chapel  Street  bridge  now  touches  the  Fair  Haven  shore. 
The  voices  were  recognized.  They  were  those  of  the 
two  hardy  swimmers.  Clothed  in  a  wet  shirt  and  drip- 
ping pantaloons,  on  that  mud  shore  they  stood  in 
the  starlight  alone,  and — one  would  suppose — forlorn. 
Soon  the  shouting  ceased.  Then,  after  a  few  minutes, 
a  "  dug-out  "  was  paddled  along  the  float,  and,  cross  and 
grumbling,  the  two  drenched  wanderers  rolled  out  upon 
the  dock.  On  the  next  day,  the  crew  borrowed  a  gig, 
rowed  to  the  scene  of  the  accident,  and  towed  the 
wreck  down  to  the  boat-house.  She  was  dropped 
carelessly  on  the  boat-house  floor,  and  lay  there  in 
her  shame  for  some  weeks.  But  before  the  crew  left 
for  Worcester,  she  was  taken  out  and  dumped  into  the 
water  as  a  piece  of  good-for-nothing  lumber.  Whither 
she  floated,  none  can  tell.  Perhaps  she  went  up  the 
river,  and  was  burned  for  firewood  by  oysterman  ;  per- 
haps she  drifted  down  the  harbor — slowly — as  slowly  as 
the  summer  clouds  drifted  southward  above  her,  and 
to  quite  as  uncertain  a  destiny  as  they. 

This  is  all.  Perhaps  it  is  foolish  for  me  to  have  made 
so  much  ado  about  so  worthless  an  old  hulk.  But  it 


THE   OLD   UNIVERSITY   SHELL.  249 

was  a  simple  act  of  friendship.  I  have  wandered 
through  a  cemetery,  and  have  come  across  an  old  friend's 
grave  unmarked  ;  and  I  merely  lay  this  scroll  upon  its 
top,  for  a  kind  of  headstone. 


IF  I  ever  become  rich  enough,  without  at  the  same 
time  growing  too  stingy,  I  shall  build  a  college.  The 
college  shall  stand  at  the  foot  of  a  mountain  ;  yet  far 
enough  away,  not  to  be  endangered  by  the  rocks  which 
sportive  Jack  Frost  occasionally  rolls  down  the  mount- 
ain sides.  To  have  a  bowlder,  six  by  ten,  come  crash- 
ing through  the  college  walls  would  be  at  all  times 
inconvenient ;  quite  as  much  so,  as  to  have  benighted 
Sophomores,  standing  knee-deep  in  the  snow  during  a 
fierce  northeaster,  toll  the  college  bell  at  half-past  two 
in  the  morning. 

The  mountain  should  be  about  half  an  hour  high, 
more  than  twice  the  height  of  West  Roek.  It  should 
be  climbable,  but  only  so,  by  teeth,  fingers  and  toes. 
It  should  be  wooded  from  bottom  to  top.  There  should 
be  the  scraggy,  tough-rooted  cedar,  the  rock-loving 
maple,  and  the  beech  with  its  long  and  pliant  boughs. 
The  chestnut,  also,  should  not  be  wanting,  nor  the 
spicy  black-birch,  nor  the  oak  and  hickory.  The  top 
of  the  mountain  should  be  rocky  and  mossy,  with 
abundant  patches  of  wintergreen  and  trailing-arbutus. 

In  short,  this  mountain  behind  the  college,  should  be 
to  the  students  a  perpetual  source  of  pleasure  and 
health.  A  run  of  three  minutes  would  bring  one  from 
the  college  doors  to  the  tumble  down  rocks  at  the 
mountain's  base.  A  hand  and  foot  climb  by  bush  and 
crag  would,  in  half  an  hour,  place  him  upon  the  sum- 


VAGARIES.  251 

mit.  Should  the*  rambler  choose  to  go  no  further,  but 
to  return  immediately  to  his  books,  he  would  have  the 
satisfaction  of  an  end  attained,  over  and  above  the 
mere  stretching  of  his  legs  and  expanding  of  his  lungs. 
His  walk  would,  like  a  good  story,  contain  within  it  a 
beginning,  a  middle  and  an  end.  The  student  often 
has  an  hour  which  he  might  spend  in  recreation,  but  he 
seldom  has  half  a  day  which  he  can  profitably  devote 
to  that  purpose.  Now,  take  away  the  mountain  from 
behind  the  college,  or  remove  it  to  the  distance  of  Savin 
Rock,  Wintergreen  Lake  or  "  My  Farm  at  Edgewood," 
and  the  leisure  hour  will  rarely  be  spent  in  walking. 
There  are  plenty  of  good  long  walks  about  New  Haven, 
but  very  few  short  ones. 

While  every  one  is  aware  of  the  uninteresting  char- 
acter of  a  walk  along  level  brick  pavements,  too  few 
have  experienced  the  exquisite  pleasure  of  climbing 
among  the  rocks.  Said  an  old  Yale  man  in  speaking 
of  one  of  our  Connecticut  hills,  "  I  just  love  that  moun- 
tain. I  climb  it  nearly  every  day.  It  keeps  me  in 
health  and  makes  preaching  compatible  with  a  sound 
digestion."  Mt.  Carmel  undoubtedly  affords  better 
climbing  than  any  hill  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of 
New  Haven  ;  yet  the  western  side  of  West  Rock  does 
very  well.  This  part  of  the  rock  is  reached  quite  as 
conveniently  as  the  path  upon  the  eastern  side.  After 
leaving  the  horse-car  at  Westville,  the  way  turns  down 
the  first  street  at  the  right,  till  the  pond  and  mill  are 
reached.  There  it  turns  to  the  left  and  follows  the 
course  of  the  stream  some  thirty  or  forty  rods,  when  it 
crosses  the  bridge  and  sweeps  round  towards  the  rock. 
Arrived  at  the  woods,  the  road  divides,  leading  along 
the  base  of  the  rock  in  opposite  directions.  From  this 
point  the  way  is  pathless  ;  the  adventurer  may  choose 


252  DESCRIPTIVE   PIECES. 

his  steps  according  to  his  humor.  He  may  climb  by 
means  of  bushes  and  trees,  or  up  the  notches  in  the 
bare  rocks.  But  whatever  method  he  chooses,  when  he 
reaches  the  top,  he  will  find  his  blood  glowing  warm  to 
the  very  tips  of  his  fingers.  His  lungs  will  have  been 
filled  several  hundred  times  to  their  utmost  capacity 
with  the  pure  mountain  air.  A  run  over  to  the  Judges' 
Cave  and  back  will  give  him  sufficient  rest  to  undertake 
the  descent.  Now  a  new  set  of  muscle  come  into  play  ; 
and  this  will  be  found  less  wearisome  than  the  ascent, 
and  much  more  exhilarating. 

If  one  has  sufficient  time,  the  ramble  may  be  extended 
from  the  cave  to  Wintergreen  Lake  and  Falls,  and 
thence  back  by  the  way  of  Pine  Rock.  If  the  time  be 
autumn,  numerous  turnip  fields  will  enliven  the  way 
and  add  new  interest  to  the  occasion. 

Or,  if  one  does  not  wish  to  go  beyond  the  cave,  but 
to  return  by  the  way  he  came  up  ;  then  having  reached 
the  foot  of  the  rock,  the  walk  may  be  continued  very 
pleasantly,  by  following  the  road  around  that  part  of 
the  precipice.  Here  a  number  of  men  may  always  be 
found,  quarrying  stone,  digging  it  out  of  the  rubbish 
which  has  accumulated  at  the  base  of  the  cliff,  as- 
sorting it  for  various  uses,  and  loading  it  in  carts.  It 
is  amusing  to  hear  these  men  talk.  They  are  a  jolly 
and  hard-handed  set  of  fellows,  and  seem  to  enjoy  the 
life  they  lead.  They  descant  on  the  virtues  of  their 
sturdy  oxen,  tell  the  traits  of  each  particular  steer,  his 
tricks  of  kicking  or  balking,  or  his  pluck  and  strength 
in  dragging  a  heavy  load.  In  their  peculiar  language, 
which  is  a  strange  mixture  of  slang  and  vigorous  sim- 
plicity, they  tell  of  the  dangers  to  which  their  occupa- 
tion exposes  them  ;  how  the  blasts  of  powder  fling  the 
fragments  of  stone  about ;  how  the  frost  and  the  thaw 


VAGARIES.  253 

loosen  great  bowlders  and  send  them  thundering  down 
the  mountain-side.  They  are  philosophers,  too,  in  their 
way,  and  treat  the  dangers  which  threaten  them,  in 
philosophy's  coolest  fashion.  They  also,  as  we,  have 
their  dreams  and  air-castles.  The  imagination  of  a  true 
laborer,  however  uncultivated  he  may  be,  covers  the 
dullness  of  his  occupation  with  a  glow  from  his  own 
living  spirit.  The  quarryman's  fancy  works  more 
nimbly  than  his  pick.  Buried  within  the  mountain's 
mass,  he  sees  untold  wealth.  Cities  of  solid  stone 
with  carved  spires  and  arched  gateways  spring  up 
around  him,  himself  the  master  architect  and  sole  pos- 
sessor. 

But  I  cannot  linger  longer  with  the  quarrymen.  For 
further  acquaintance  the  reader  must  seek  the  men 
themselves. 

I  am  sorry  the  snow  has  come.  It  cuts  off  any  near 
prospect  of  walking  to  the  hills.  It,  however,  brings 
recompensing  pleasures — to  a  few.  The  bells  jingle 
merrily ;  but  I  am  not  behind  them.  The  sleighs  cut 
swiftly  through  the  snow ;  but  I  am  not  in  them.  The 
horses  are  not  mine :  and  others  are  driving  them.  So 
I  look  to  the  hills  for  my  pleasure  ;  and  wait  for  the 
melting  of  the  snow. 


(filttitmipiac. 

THE  lengthening  intervals  of  the  days  in  which  loung- 
ing on  the  fence  again  becomes  a  duty  and  a  pleasure, 
recall  to  my  mind  various  pleasant  summer  recreations. 
Chief  among  these  pleasures  I  place  that  of  boating. 
Unfortunate  it  surely  is  that  the  word  has,  also, 
reminiscences  of  another  and  less  pleasing  nature. 
With  the  recollection  of  the  word  I  hear  an  importun- 
ate knocking  at  my  study  door,  far  different  from  the 
modest  tap  of  the  beggar,  or  the  well  known  announce- 
ment of  my  friends.  Armed  with  catalogue  and  pencil, 
these  men  of  authority  so  ply  us  with  the  magnitude  of 
navy  or  class  debts  that  we  give  up  all  counter  argu- 
ments, and  affix  the  required  amounts  to  our  names 
without  a  murmur,  but  with  much  after  repentance. 
Then,  too,  our  colors  have  not  been  always  in  the 
ascendant  at  Worcester  and  Springfield. 

But  I  would  view  boating  from  a  different  standpoint. 
Two  ways  there  are  of  pursuing  boating  ;  one,  as  a  means 
of  glory,  making  pleasure  and  physical  improvement 
subservient ;  another,  making  health,  development  and 
pleasure  the  end  of  the  exercise.  Count  me,  if  you 
please,  in  the  latter  crowd.  All  praise  to  the  six  oars 
who,  manfully  struggling  against  the  inertia  of  inborn 
laziness,  twice  a  day  strain  heart,  lungs  and  muscles  to 
their  utmost,  in  valiant  efforts  to  maintain  the  honor  of 
their  class  or  college  in  an  approaching  contest.  All 
commendation  to  the  possessors  of  the  straining  backs 


QUINNIPIAC.  255 

and  blistering  hands  ;  but  for  pleasurable  and  healthful 
exercise  commend  me  to  the  single-scull.  Here  no  stroke 
calls  for  a  spurt  when  you,  the  crew,  deemed  yourself 
already  spurting  to  the  best  of  your  ability.  Here  no 
fellow  oarsman  grumbles  at  receiving  a  gratuitous 
shower-bath  from  your  oar-blade,  nor  does  another 
offend  your  ear  by  profanity  when  you  recover  with 
especial  energy  against  the  small  of  his  back.  Here 
you  are  bow  and  stroke  combined,  and  can  bestow  as 
much  praise  and  censure  on  the  crew  as  you  please. 

Given  a  cheerful  frame  of  mind,  a  warm,  sunny  day 
with  no  wind,  and  the  problem  of  passing  a  Wednesday 
or  Saturday  afternoon  pleasantly  in  this  manner  is  not 
difficult  of  solution.  Approximating  your  costume  as 
nearly  to  that  of  nature  as  boat-house  propriety  allows, 
you  will  get  the  full  benefit  of  the  sunlight  and  the  open 
air.  Launching  your  shell,  a  few  strokes  put  a  wide 
space  between  you  and  the  rapidly  receding  crowd  on 
the  float.  Abandonment  to  the  pleasure  of  physical 
exercise  on  the  water  alone  rouses  an  exhilaration  of 
animal  spirits  which  doubles  your  capacities  for  enjoy- 
ing life.  The  bracing  air  clears  away  from  your  lungs 
the  impurities  left  by  the  foul  atmosphere  of  many  a 
crowded  recitation-room.  Your  seat,  it  is  true,  is  hard 
as  that  upon  which  you  grumble  at  Chapel,  but  the 
gentle  motion  of  the  medium  beneath  makes  it  as  easy 
as  the  cradle  of  infancy.  On  you  go  to  the  Point,  the 
water  rippling  before  the  sharp  bow,  when,  suddenly,  a 
bump  recalls  you  from  your  reflections,  and  you  find 
yourself  entangled  in  a  plantation  of  oyster-stakes,  out 
of  which  you  must  needs  back-water  ignominiously. 
When  fairly  under  way  again  a  glance  over  your 
shoulder  discloses  a  spiteful  little  tug  bearing  down  on 
your  craft.  Your  shelf  is  hardly  able  to  dispute  the 


256  DESCRIPTIVE  PIECES. 

right  of  way  ;  indeed,  you  have  enough  to  do  to  ride  out 
the  "  stern  rollers  "  in  the  tug's  wake.  Again,  as  if  to 
remind  you  that  there  is  another  side  even  to  this  pleas- 
ure, a  neighboring  Superphosphate-of-Lime  factory 
sends  its  compliments  to  you  across  the  water,  and 
drives  out  of  your  recollection  all  the  perfumes  which 
have  hitherto  made  you  grateful  for  a  nose.  These  are, 
however,  minor  discomforts,  and  you  are  soon  by  them 
all.  With  an  afternoon  before  you,  you  may  follow  the 
river  for  a  number  of  miles  into  the  interior.  A 
striking  landmark  is  the  "  Red  House,"  interesting 
from  its  bad  reputation,  and  from  being  the  scene  of  a 
murder  some  time  since.  Shooting  the  bridges  when 
the  tide  is  running  out  will  be  found  exciting  enough 
in  a  wherry.  Contact  with  their  piers  has  ere  now 
wrecked  many  a  paper  and  cedar  shell,  and  dampened 
the  enthusiasm  of  many  a  navigator  ! 


Stacking. 

AMONG  the  forms  of  pleasurable  excitement  which  we 
demand  in  time  of  relaxation  from  College  duties,  I 
know  of  none  better  than  Ducking. 

The  locality  is  favorable,  the  season  good,  and  the 
ducks  both  shy  and  plenty,  so  that  the  sport  offers 
inducements  to  the  most  scientific,  as  well  as  greenest 
shot.  It  excites  all  the  activity  that  a  man  has  stowed 
away  for  contingencies,  forcing  the  mercury  in  his  tem- 
perament alternately  through  every  degree,  from  zero  to 
boiling-point. 

A  few  weeks  since  it  was  my  good  fortune  to  make 
one  in  a  crew  of  five  who  engaged  in  a  ducking  expedi- 
tion, the  incidents  of  which  were  so  numerous,  that  I 
desire  you,  reader,  to  take  the  trip  with  me  again. 

We  deposit  selves  and  baggage  in  a  trim  yacht,  and 
move  out  into  the  harbor  under  a  stiff  breeze.  And 
now  the  sight  of  a  solitary  gull,  in  the  distance,  sug- 
gests the  possibility  of  duck.  With  the  air  of  veteran 
sportsmen  we  load  our  guns,  and  strain  our  eyes  over 
the  water. 

No  ducks  in  sight — but  stop  !  Yes  ;  there  are  two, 
scudding  over  the  white-caps,  under  bare  poles,  but 
safely  enough,  for  our  fowling-pieces  would  have  to  be 
enlarged  to  Parrot  guns  in  order  to  reach  them. 

The  stiff  breeze  soon  carries  us  beyond  the  Fort  and 
Savin  Rock,  and  as  we  near  the  Light  House,  we  bear 
down  on  the  advance-guard  of  the  ducks.  Then  to  the 
9 


2$8  DESCRIPTIVE   PIECES. 

right  they  fly,  eight  or  ten  in  line,  skimming  along  just 
above  the  waves.  No  one  wishes  to  sink  his  reputation 
by  firing  at  such  a  range,  and  so,  with  philosophic 
equanimity,  we  let  them  pass  unscathed.  But  now  our 
sentinel,  in  the  bow,  descries  a  duck,  with  its  black 
head  a  little  ways  ahead,  and  we  fire  an  ineffective 
broadside  into  her  duckship,  as  she  raises  anchor, 
hoists  sail,  and  runs  over  under  flying  colors.  Our 
guard  again  resumes  position,  while  the  writer  takes 
the  offensive,  on  the  starboard.  Presently,  the  percep- 
tion of  duck  impiesses  my  visuals.  A  duck  rises  at 
long  range,  and  as  it  crosses  the  bow,  I  instantly  fire, 
with  no  perceptible  shock  to  the  duck,  but  greatly 
alarming  the  shocking  sensibilities  of  my  friend  in 
the  bow.  As  the  shot  suddenly  whistles  by,  he  turns 
pale,  and  in  "  a  voice  broken  with  emotion,"  appeals 
to  the  company  whether  it  is  allowable  to  fire  in  such 
proximity  to  a  brother  sportsman. 

It  is  decided,  unanimously,  that  in  ducking  times, 
all  ordinary  military  tactics  must  be  disregarded  :  that 
it  is  the  duty  of  every  man  to  fire,  instantly,  on  the 
appearance  of  duck  :  that  each  must  keep  clear  of  his 
neighbor's  shots. 

Here  and  there  upon  the  crests  of  the  white  caps 
were  visible,  little  black  spots,  and  as  these  rose  and 
fell  with  the  waves,  it  required  critical  observation  to 
pronounce  them  ducks.  But,  on  nearer  approach,  they 
developed  into  heads,  then  necks,  then  wings,  and 
finally,  the  bodies  of  veritable  ducks.  The  wary  coots, 
however,  kept  at  a  respectful  distance,  while  the  noisy 
gulls  flew  over  us  with  impunity,  crying  out,  derisively, 
at  each  unsuccessful  shot. 

And  now  we  are  bowling  along  in  the  vicinity  of 
Charles  Island,  and  ducks  are  flying  in  every  direction. 


DUCKING.  259 

Quick  !  there  goes  one  right  across  our  bow,  within 
easy  gunshot.  One  of  us  jumps  to  his  feet  and  fires, 
while  mirabile  dictu,  the  duck  falls.  The  boat  speedily 
swings  round,  but  too  late,  for  the  waves  have  swept 
over  the  unfortunate  fowl,  "and  left  not  a  trace  be- 
hind." Our  fortunate  shot  goes  into  such  a  fever  of 
excitement,  that  he  unconsciously  pours  his  caps  into 
the  barrel,  while  the  powder  finds  its  way,  outside  the 
gun,  into  the  water. 

Twilight  comes  on,  and  ducks  fly  safely  within  a  few 
rods,  conscious  that  our  guns  are  stowed  away,  and  that 
we  are  smoking,  in  all  the  calmness  of  philosophic  con- 
templation. In  the  distance  is  an  object,  regarded  by 
one  astronomer  as  an  unknown  star  of  the  first  magni- 
tude, but,  on  nearer  approach,  we  see,  plainly,  the  ap- 
pearance which  theory  has  assigned  to  the  revolving 
heavenly  bodies,  and  pronounce  it  Stratford  Light. 

We  drop  anchor  inside  the  bar  of  Stratford  channel. 
One  party  goes  ashore  in  search  of  a  candle,  which  is 
obtained  only  by  dint  of  persuasion  and  bribery,  while 
the  remainder  of  us  hoist  the  boom,  so  as  to  answer  for 
a  tent-pole,  and  across  it  stretch  some  extra  canvas, 
whose  ends  are  fastened  to  the  sides  of  the  boat,  thus 
forming  a  comfortable  tent.  Finally,  everything  is  ready, 
and  the  tent  lighted  for  our  little  "  convivial."  Stretched 
at  random  on  the  floor,  we  enter  on  the  duty  of  the 
hour,  and  every  man  does  yeomanry  service  in  attack- 
ing the  provisions.  After  supper,  the  usual  smoke, 
during  which  we  discuss  the  theory  of  "ducking  by 
moonlight."  The  sky  is  overcast  with  drifting  snow- 
clouds,  so  that  the  first  essential  is  not  clearly  given, 
but  three  of  us,  now  ashore,  and  separating,  take  up 
our  lonely  tramp  along  the  beach. 

But  no  duck  is  willing  to  suffer  martyrdom,  and  so, 


260  DESCRIPTIVE  PIECES. 

while  musing  over  the  disappointments  of  ducking,  my 
equanimity  is  startled  by  the  report  of  a  gun  a  few  hund- 
red feet  distant,  and  the  rattling  of  shot  in  my  vicinity. 
Then  another  and  another,  and  again  another.  The  shot 
whistle  by  as  if  a  five-hundred-pounder  had  discharged 
its  complement  of  grape  within  short  range.  After  the 
first  shock,  I  reason  that  I  am  still  existent,  because 
I  possessed  consciousness,  and  that  I  am  cognizant  of 
that,  you  will  at  once  subsume,  on  recalling  the  fact 
that  consciousness  involves  the  cognition  and  percep- 
tion both  of  the  ego  and  non-ego,  in  this  instance,  being 
a  duck  floating  a  few  yards  ahead.  Bear  in  mind  the 
fact,  that  the  ego  cognized  the  non-ego,  and  the  prob- 
lem is  at  once  solved.  More  accurately  stated,  in  the 
language  of  the  schools,  it  would  be,  "  Reason,  led 
from  perception  of  the  duck  to  consciousness,  and 
that,  to  the  phenomenon  of  self-existence." 

I  pick  up  the  duck,  and  first  taking  the  precaution- 
ary move  of  "  boarding "  my  sporting  friends,  row  on 
for  some  distance,  and  after  shooting  another  duck, 
return  to  "ye  staunch  ship  Julia."  Each  disposing 
himself  in  the  most  uncomfortable  situation  possible, 
endeavors  to  persuade  himself  that  he  can  readily  fall 
asleep,  realizing  its  necessity  from  the  fact  that  he  is 
to  rise  at  four  A.  M.,  and  go  in  pursuit  of  ducks.  But, 
however  clear  this  may  be  in  theory,  in  practice  it  proves 
a  very  knotty  problem. 

Tossing  and  rolling  with  the  swell  of  the  tide  and 
wave,  while  the  roar  of  breakers  at  the  harbor's  mouth 
is  sounding  in  your  ears,  may  be  very  poetic,  but  when 
the  attendant  circumstances  of  a  damp,  cold  bed,  in  the 
close  quarters  of  a  small  sail-boat  are  considered,  then 
comes  the  rub. 

I   first   sleep   the   sleep   of  Abou    Ben  Adhem,  but 


DUCKING.  26l 

quickly  awake,  under  the  impression  that  I  am  stretched 
in  a  coffin,  to  which  the  lid  is  in  the  act  of  being  nailed. 
The  actuality  gives  good  cause  for  play  of  imagination, 
for  I  am  stowed  away  in  far  less  room  than  would 
suffice  for  a  comfortable  coffin,  and  almost  stifled  by 
the  closeness  of  the  air.  I  next  seek  a  "  downy  couch" 
on  the  soft  oaken  seat,  in  width  just  eleven  inches,  but 
am  again  awakened  to  unpleasant  consciousness  by 
the  rain,  pouring  through  the  rotten  canvas  overhead. 

"Ab  uno  disce  omnes."  At  four  A.  M.  rain  pours 
down  in  a  continuous  stream,  and  each  man  thinks 
more  of  sleep  than  duck.  At  last  we  rise  to  the  exi- 
gencies of  the  occasion,  and  after  a  frugal  meal,  proceed 
to  the  hunting  "  grounds  ;"  and  now  we  bear  down  on  a 
flock  of  black  ducks,  and  each,  eager  with  a  determina- 
tion to  do  or  die,  determined  to  fire.  The  rain  pelts  the 
ducks,  but  they  seem  to  enjoy  it,  and  in  lazy  satisfaction 
turn  their  curious  eyes  upon  the  intruders,  but  suddenly 
surmising  danger,  rise,  and  fly  swiftly  away.  Every  man 
pulls  trigger,  but  no  report  rings  out  from  the  guns,  so 
long  exposed  to  rain.  With  elongated  countenances  we 
joke  over  our  foolish  inattention,  and  drawing  the  charge, 
re-load  our  pieces,  in  most  approved  style.  We  bag  a 
brace  of  ducks,  when  a  North-east  gale  strikes  us,  in  all 
its  fury,  and  we  are  barely  able  to  reach  the  Julia,  and 
lash  securely  every  strip  of  canvas.  The  gale  shows  no 
sign  of  abatement,  and  after  philosophizing  in  the  style 
of  Diogenes,  we  decide  to  go  ashore,  where  we  separate, 
part  going  to  the  thriving  city  of  Stratford,  and  others 
going  upon  the  flats,  in  search  of  "  dry"  shooting,  which 
was  obtained  in  the  midst  of  a  pelting  rain  storm,  by 
wading,  constantly,  in  about  fifteen  centimetres  of  HaO. 
Finally  we  straggle,  tired,  wet,  and  hungry,  into  the 
"  birth-place  of  the  gentle  bard  of  Avon." 


262  DESCRIPTIVE  PIECES. 

Arrayed  in  costumes  that  would  have  gladdened  the 
sight  of  Salvator  Rosa,  we  march  through  the  long 
avenue,  vainly  seeking  our  lost  companions  beneath 
some  elm-swinging  sign,  "lodgings  for  man  and  beast." 
We  finally  obtain  that  great  desideratum  of  a  hungry 
philosopher,  which  is  appropriately  termed  by  Aristotle, 
a  warm  dinner.  After  this,  we  slowly  come  to  the  sad 
conclusion,  that  ducking  prospects  are  clouded,  that  we 
cannot  cut  the  teeth  of  the  gale  with  our  yacht,  that  we 
are  worn  out  with  fatigue  and  excitement,  and  that  the 
only  sensible  thing  remaining  for  Les  Miserables  to 
effect,  is  to  take  cars  direct  for  New  Haven. 

Cheered  by  the  thought  of  the  cozy  fires  awaiting  us 
in  "  Old  South,"  we  say  to  the  ducks,  adieu  for  a  time, 
gird  up  our  loins,  strap  on  our  luggage,  shake  off  the 
mud  from  our  soles,  and  are  off  with  a  whistle. 


MISCELLANEOUS     ARTICLES. 


bacation  in  QMb 


OF  course,  there  is,  in  general,  but  one  way  of  spend- 
ing the  vacation  —  namely,  to  go  into  the  country.  But 
this  great  end  of  summer  existence  may  be  attained  in 
various  ways.  If,  for  instance,  it  be  viewed  from  a  sar- 
torial stand-point,  two  courses  at  once  open  before  us 
—  to  go  to  a  watering-place  and  wear  good  clothes,  or 
to  go  to  a  farm  and  wear  old  ones.  Having  tried  the 
latter  course,  I  venture  some  explanations  and  advice 
concerning  it. 

It  must  be  premised,  in  reference  to  location,  that  by 
the  country  is  meant,  not  that  mongrel  compound  of 
the  abuses  of  the  city  and  the  inconveniences  of  the 
rural  districts,  but  —  the  country  ;  not  a  place  where 
wet  walks  and  mosquitoes  are  a  counter-irritant  to  hotel 
privileges  and  daily  papers,  but  a  territory,  the  undi- 
vided property  of  nature,  where  that  famous  dame  "  the 
mother  of  all  living  "  can  be  communed  with,  and 
otherwise  informally  interviewed  continually. 

Here,  in  pure  airs,  the  mosquito  is  fain  to  cease  from 
troubling  —  though,  verily,  his  now  and  then  attempted 
tune  does  more  vex  the  ear  than  the  distant  roar  of 
party  strife,  whose  rancor,  even  here,  leaves  more  poi- 
son in  the  blood  than  his  infrequent  sting.  Here  health 
laughs  at  August  heats,  and  bids  defiance  to  the  seduc- 
tive whortleberry  and  the  insidious  cucumber,  which, 
newly  plucked,  lose  half  their  power  for  ill  upon  the 
sons  of  men. 


266  MISCELLANEOUS   ARTICLES. 

But  why  waste  time  and  paper  on  these  trifles  ?  Here 
you  may  taste  a  higher  joy,  a  pleasure,  the  chief  among 
ten  thousand,  that  a  truly  rural  life  affords.  Here  may 
you  be  free  from  shining  torments,  fresh  from  the  tai- 
lors' cruel  art,  and  revel  in  your  cast-off  clothes — a 
boon  which  the  city  grants  no  honest  man,  save  the 
rare  specimens  of  that  class  found  by  mistake  among 
the  bankrupts. 

Alas  !  that  there  be  so  many  total  strangers  to  the 
calm  and  healthful  joys  latent  in  a  veteran  suit — a  suit 
whose  shapely  folds  time  has  attuned  to  harmony  with 
the  irregularities  of  the  "  individual  ego  "  as  no  sarto- 
rial artist  could  fashion  them.  Comfort  dwells  in  its 
creases,  and  satisfaction  in  its  softened  seams.  Alas  ! 
the  pity  that  such  should  e'er  wear  out  and  quite  re- 
lapse away  from  the  similitude  of  garments.  But  yet 
more  deeply  is  it  to  be  deplored  that  "  the  refined 
delicacy  of  modern  society "  should  condemn  these 
trusted  body-servants  just  when  their  usefulness  be- 
gins to  ripen,  should  sanction  their  transmutation  into 
a  few  sordid  bits  of  legal  tender,  and  consign  them  to 
the  tender  mercies  of  the  Children  of  Israel. 

From  such  abominably  artful  regulations,  nature 
affords  relief.  Pack  your  trunk,  not  with  fine  raiment, 
fresh  from  the  needle,  but  with  habiliments  of  the  past, 
with  suits  from  last  summer — with  odd  pieces,  too,  here 
a  coat,  and  there  a  pair  of  nether  integuments.  On 
these  latter  will  devolve  the  heavy  duties  of  the  cam- 
paign ;  for  it  is  the  chief  excellence  of  this  whole  va- 
cation system  that  the  coat  is  only  called  into  use  when 
needful  to  comfort.  Leave  it  behind  you  from  day  to 
day,  roll  up  slightly  the  sleeves  of  the  garment  beneath, 
disguise  yourself  in  a  square  yard  or  so  of  straw  hat, 
and  the  rising  barometer  is  shorn  of  half  its  terrors. 


A  VACATION  IN  OLD   CLOTHES.  267 

You  may  stroll  undismayed  beneath  the  sun's  fiercest 
attacks.  You  become  invulnerable  to  the  solar  ray, 
and  are  free  to  watch  with  pleasure  its  invigorating 
effects  upon  the  vegetable  world. 

But,  to  have  done  with  physical  joys,  old  clothes 
carry  their  influence  and  value  into  the  realm  of  mind. 
There  inheres  in  them  a  mild  stimulus,  a  gentle  tonic 
to  the  memory,  which,  alone  of  the  mental  faculties, 
should  be  allowed  any  activity  in  vacation.  Recollec- 
tion treasures  in  them  some  pretty  stores,  and  "  fond 
memories  'round  them  clinging"  make  them  worth 
their  double  of  a  newer  guise.  The  magician  had  a 
cap  of  knowledge  ;  but  I  have  a  coat  of  memory,  a 
vest  for  experience,  and  (smile  not)  unwhisperables  of 
reflection. 

When  I  take  them  out,  there  attends  them  a  troop 
of  other  shapes  and  other  days.  I  put  them  on,  and 
I  am  clothed  in  the  past.  Here,  for  example,  is  a  coat. 
What  a  particular  heavy  swell  I  once  cut  in  the  suit 
of  which  it  is  the  sole  remnant.  With  what  peculiar 
pride  I  first  donned  it.  What  convivial  scene  is  re- 
called by  the  stain  on  the  lapel  of  lemon-juice,  or  per- 
haps more  potent  liquid.  A  neatly-mended  rent  in  the 
sleeve  is  embroidered  with  pleasant  memories  of  a  pic- 
nic and  a  fair  nymph,  at  whose  bidding  was  undertaken 
the  plunge  through  a  tangle  after  flowers  that  resulted 
so  disastrously  to  my  attire,  and  whose  charming  face 
bent  penitently  over  the  rent  her  commands  had 
caused,  in  vain  endeavor,  with  pins,  to  make  it  good. 
Ah,  well-a-day  !  Let  that  pass  for  the  coat.  The  mai- 
den is  no  longer  kind  :  and  I  must  turn  to  the  next ; 
for  each  can,  like  the  coat,  "  a  tale  unfold." 

But  to  recount  at  length  the  pleasures,  whether  of 
body  or  soul,  inherent  in  old  clothes,  is  denied  me  ;  for 


268  MISCELLANEOUS   ARTICLES. 

a  sense  of  duty  hurries  me  on  to  a  few  words  of  advice 
and  warning.  Beware  of  abusing  your  treasures.  Re- 
member that  they  are  a  limited  hoard,  that  the  infirmities 
of  age  are  upon  them,  and  that,  once  gone,  they  can 
only  be  replaced  by  months  of  patient  wearing  of  new 
ones.  Let  your  joy  in  their  free  use  be,  by  this 
thought,  tempered  to  a  wise  discretion.  Bear  them  not 
into  scenes  of  too  searching  trial.  Frequent  not  over- 
much the  depth  of  the  blackberry  jungle  primeval, 
neither  be  allured  by  the  coy  pickerel  too  frequently  to 
the  wet  marshes  at  the  river  side.  Make  a  careful  ad- 
justment of  supply  to  demand  ;  else  you  must  return 
perforce  to  the  unrestful  elements  of  the  world.  Then 
you  are  poor  indeed.  The  need  of  such  an  one  passes 
that  of  those  who  only  sigh  for  a  new  suit,  and  who  can, 
in  the  tailor,  find  every  longing  satisfied.  For  the 
tastes  which  you  have  formed  refuse  to  be  denied  ;  and, 
nevertheless,  they  cannot  be  satisfied.  The  rare  flavor 
of  old  wine,  the  rich  perfume  of  old  cheese,  can  no 
more  be  hastened  than  can  the  excellencies  of  the  com- 
modity I  extol.  Like  all  true  benefits,  they  come  not 
by  gift,  purchase,  or  exchange,  but  as  the  reward  of 
duty  done.  Before  one  can  possess  old  clothes  he  must 
wear  down  new  ones  to  the  proper  tone.  Their  pos- 
session in  vacation  is  the  guerdon  of  an  academic 
year's  patient  subordination  to  the  requirements  of 
society. 

To  borrow  here  is  impossible.  A  dress-coat  might 
be  borrowed  for  one  evening ;  but  against  the  loan  of 
an  old  coat  the  eternal  fitness  of  things  cries  out  in  ab- 
horrence. Why,  it  justly  asks,  had  he  not  foresight 
enough  to  lay  by  one  against  a  rainy  day?  Let  him 
perspire  in  a  new  one  without  complaint. 

Neither  can  purchase  satisfy  ;  and  this  is  why  I  in- 


A  VACATION  IN  OLD   CLOTHES.  269 

culcate  a  wise  prudence  in  their  vacation  use.  Buy 
them!  Can  I  buy  more  than  the  mere  cloth?  Can 
they,  like  my  lost  treasures,  afford  a  perfect  mould  for 
my  weary  frame,  into  whose  embrace  it  shall  sink  as 
snugly  as  the  webbed  foot  of  that  famed  aquatic  bird 
into  the  plastic  ooze  upon  the  margin  of  his  watery 
home?  Nay,  forsooth.  Can  lawful  currency  procure 
the  memories  that  make  their  better  worth?  Again,  and 
a  thousand  times,  nay.  Furthermore,  to  buy  is  to  aid 
in  an  unholy  traffic.  It  is  to  encourage  the  seller  to  a 
waste  of  his  own  physical  comfort,  and  to  help  him  to 
part,  as  it  were,  with  a  portion  of  his  own  individuality, 
to  put  himself  piecemeal  on  the  market ! 

To  be  a  go-between  for  their  purveyance  from  man  to 
man,  is  to  be  twice  cursed,  in  giving  and  in  taking. 
'Tis  worse  than  traffic  in  dead  men's  bones.  This  I 
do  firmly  believe  to  be  a  sufficient  explanation  of  the 
degraded  state,  from  time  immemorial,  of  the  despised 
race  of  the  children  of  Jacob.  They  are  a  race  of  old 
clo'  dealers.  Can  deeper  damnation  dwell  in  a  single 
phrase  ? 

Here,  too,  is  explanation  ample  of  half  the  misery 
and  crime  of  city  paupers  and  vagabonds.  Do  you 
doubt  it :  look  on  the  contented,  though  ragged,  poor 
of  the  country,  and  the  honest  farmer,  far  from  poor, 
who  drives  the  plow  in  little  better  garments — then  on 
the  mongrel  race  of  gutter-snipes,  boot-blacks,  and 
their  ilk.  Those  buy  their  garments  in  the  cloth  and 
wear  them  until  they  grow  old,  and  when  they  are  old, 
with  decent  pride  in  the  legitimate  possession.  These 
come  into  their  nondescript  apparel  at  hap-hazard.  In 
the  eye  of  the  law,  it  may  be  theirs  ;  but  instinct  pro- 
tests that  it  is  not.  The  very  cloth  that,  on  its  original 
and  rightful  possessor,  was  a  rallying-ground  of  the 


27O  MISCELLANEOUS   ARTICLES. 

virtues,  when  transferred,  seems  to  carry  with  it  only 
an  atmosphere  of  vices  in  which  to  envelop  its  spurious 
possessor.  Even  the  unconscious  feeling  that  he  is  not 
himself  throughout,  but  rather  a  compound  of  two  men, 
must  invest  the  hapless  possessor  of  second-hand 
raiment  with  a  feeling  of  irresponsibility  more  than 
sufficient  to  account  for  all  the  misdemeanors  laid  at 
the  doors  of  his  fraternity.  Here  is  food  for  reflection 
to  the  philanthropist. 

When  Burns  called  his  ragged  country  friend  "a 
man  for  a'  that,"  he  showed  a  painful  lack  of  his  usual 
insight  into  human  nature.  That  was,  iri  sooth,  the  very 
bulwark  of  his  manhood. 

But  I  digress. 


Cong  Vacations. 


I  HAVE  determined  to  write  upon  the  above  subject  af- 
ter a  thoughtful  consideration  of  the  advantages  which  it 
possesses  over  many  more  pretentious  subjects.  I  am 
aware  that  the  thoughtless  may  express  the  wish  that 
at  this  point  I  had  given  my  pen  a  long  vacation,  but 
those  who  write  for  immortality  are  generally  without 
honor  among  their  kinsfolk  and  friends.  I  am  not 
insensible  to  the  fact  that  the  thoughtful  will  at  first 
condemn  the  apparent  unimportance  and  irrelevancy 
of  my  theme,  but  such  mistake  my  plan  and  purpose. 

My  proposition  is  that  long  vacations  exert  a  baneful 
influence  upon  the  undergraduate  world.  In  the  first 
place  it  is  a  vexation  to  be  obliged  to  choose  upon  so 
complex  and  elaborate  a  course  of  action  as  a  long  va- 
cation necessitates.  I  exclude  from  this  consideration 
three  classes  ;  those  who  take  the  wings  of  the  morn- 
ing and  fly  unto  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth  to 
spend  the  summer  months  ;  those  who  chase  about  the 
resorts  of  fashion  the  butterflies  who  swarm  there,  and 
those  who  remain  at  home  through  necessity,  and  sell 
eggs  and  molasses  over  the  paternal  counter.  I  am 
speaking  of  the  average  man  who  finds  himself  about 
the  first  of  July  with  a  long  summer  before  him  and  a 
considerate  father  behind. 

But,  suppose  that  not  only  the  calculations  have  been 
made,  but  the  journey  accomplished  ;  that  the  cinders 
have  been  eliminated  from  his  eyes,  and  that  immacu- 


272  MISCELLANEOUS   ARTICLES. 

late  as  to  shirt,  collar  and  cuffs,  he  has  been  introduced 
all  round,  and  considers  himself  domesticated.  Believe 
me,  trouble  is  about  to  commence.  Within  twenty  min- 
utes he  will  be  sitting  on  the  back-piazza  with  a  previ- 
ous arrival.  I  care  nothing  what  his  age,  rank  or  past 
connections  may  have  been.  I  have  known  men  leave 
college  in  July  as  intangible  as  a  hard-shell  Baptist, 
and  return  in  September  as  tender  as  a  soft-shell  crab. 
Irving  says  of  this  very  class  of  men  :  "  Such  veteran 
roysterers  are  daring  wags  when  together,  and  will  put 
any  female  to  the  blush  with  their  jokes  ;  but  they  are 
quiet  as  lambs  when  they  fall  singly  into  the  clutches 
of  a  fine  woman." 

Thus  he  goes  on  from  bad  to  worse.  A  quiet  walk 
to  church  is  followed  the  next  evening  by  a  break-neck 
ride  along  the  river,  and  finally,  a  small-hour  picnic 
caps  the  climax,  and  puts  him  on  the  most  uncomforta- 
ble terms  with  his  landlady.  At  last,  after  some  quiet 
day,  night  overtakes  them  under  the  apple-tree  in  the 
side-yard,  and  just  as  he  hoped  he  should  survive,  the 
moon  comes  up,  peeps  through  the  leaves  and  concludes 
the  business.  If  she  declines  his  kind  offer,  he  returns 
to  college  irate  and  misanthropic,  and  if  she  accepts 
he  comes  back  in  great  perplexity,  and  ten  to  one 
makes  up  his  mind  to  do  an  unmanly  thing,  causing  a 
little  soberness  in  New  Haven  and  a  great  deal  of  cry- 
ing somewhere  up  among  the  hills. 

But  suppose  that  instead  of  some  cozy  little  lake- 
bounded  town,  the  collegian  seeks  the  seclusion  and 
the  wild  life  of  some  sporting  region.  Evil  follows 
him.  The  Adirondacks  engulf  innumerable  victims 
yearly,  who,  having  no  opportunity  to  make  love,  learn 
to  vapor  and  exaggerate.  I  have  heard  men  who  had 
never  been  known  to  catch  a  fish  since  the  period  of 


LONG  VACATIONS.  273 

bent  pins  and  shiners,  dwell  with  great  prolixity  upon 
the  merits  of  some  new  invention  in  fishing-tackle.  If 
we  may  believe  their  own  words,  men  who,  in  the  spring 
at  college,  cannot  get  into  a  barge  without  tipping  it 
over,  in  summer  up  among  the  lakes  chase  deer  and 
shoot  falls  with  the  "happiest  combination  of  grace  and 
efficiency."  The  climate  of  northern  Maine  is  very 
favorable  for  puffery  and  braggadocio,  and  the  Adiron- 
dacks  have  even  produced  a  book.  The  habit  of 
vaporing  thus  induced  does  not  confine  itself  to  the  ex- 
ploits of  a  summer,  but  lingers  along  through  life> 
dressing  everything  in  rainbows.  When  my  friend 
first  showed  me  a  boquet  which  he  said  he  hastily 
gathered  from  his  conservatory,  being  fond  of  flowers, 
I  thought  that  some  pleasant  afternoon  I  would  walk 
over  and  examine  it  :  but  when  I  ascertained  that  the 
conservatory  consisted  of  a  bee-hive  turned  glass-side 
up  and  contained  nothing  but  a  flowering  cabbage,  I 
determined  not  to  go. 

It  would  be  easy  to  prolong  this  part  of  the  subject, 
but  let  us  suppose  that  the  ladies  have  all  been  dis- 
.  posed  of  and  the  trout  all  caught,  that  the  merchants  of 
New  Haven  have  re-opened  their  stores,  that  the  furni- 
ture wagons  once  more  creak  about  the  campus,  and 
that  college  has  gone  into  winter  quarters.  It  is  now, 
especially,  that  the  evils  of  which  I  have  spoken  begin 
to  appear.  One  might,  perhaps,  get  along  very  well  if 
his  time  were  unlimited,  but  when  you  can  barely  man- 
age to  play  daily  as  many  games  of  whist  as  you  think 
necessary  to  develop  your  memory  and  reasoning  pow- 
ers, and  to  take  the  walk  which  you  promised  your 
mother  you  would  not  forget,  how  in  the  world  are  yo^ 
going  to  attend  to  the  voluminous  correspondence 
which  the  summer  campaign  engendered? 


274  MISCELLANEOUS   ARTICLES. 

Again,  a  long  vacation  tends  to  dissipate  that  whole- 
some respect  for  one's  instructors  which  annuals  instill. 
It  is  hard  to  realize  that  the  companionable  gentleman 
who  allowed  you  to  pay  for  the  iced  drinks  in  August, 
will  flunk  you  without  a  moment's  warning  in  Septem- 
ber. 

Lastly,  long  vacations  cause  a  subsequent  neglect  of 
college  duties.  We  come  here  primarily  to  learn,  and 
upon  the  studies  of  the  curriculum  we  ought  to  spend 
our  best  energies.  Outside  influences  unquestionably 
possess  great  developing  power,  and  are  worthy  of 
serious  and  considerate  attention.  Like  the  outside  of 
a  letter,  they  are  useful  and  attractive,  but,  after  all,  as 
Tony  Lumpkin  justly  observed,  "The  inside  of  a  letter 
generally  contains  the  cream  of  the  correspondence." 


inrcsljman  fiains. 

MANY  are  the  distinctive  parts  of  the  student's  year 
and  called  by  various  names,  but  none  is  so  distinctive- 
ly termed  as  Freshman  Rains.  We  have  the  Third 
Term — or  rather  we  had — for  it  has  now  been  officially 
merged  in  the  second  term,  but  this,  another  name  for 
the  spring,  the  pastoral  part  of  the  student's  life,  is  not 
allotted  to  any  particular  part  or  department  of  the  uni- 
versity ;  for  all  participate  in  its  visions  of  swarthy 
University  nines,  crews  and  teams.  The  very  name 
calls  up  long  loungings  on  the  fence,  beatific  snab  in 
their  new  plumage,  walks  into  the  suburbs,  and  an  easy 
time  generally.  We  have  too  the  Winter  Term,  sugges- 
tive of  the  leafless  elms  and  bare  barrack-like  buildings  ; 
of  ulsters,  old  hats  and  heavy  top  boots,  in  which  the 
heart  of  the  student  rejoiceth  exceedingly ;  and  if  you 
are  a  Senior  and  the  cosy  luxuriance  of  South's  open 
fires  is  open  to  you,  of  rooms  lighted  by  that  flickering 
fire-light  which  is  the  beau-ideal  of  the  romantic  man's 
vision  of  comfort. 

But  to  the  humble  Freshman  (for  he  certainly  ought 
to  be  humble)  alone  is  consecrated  this  damp,  disagree- 
able, especially  so  by  contrast  with  the  halcyon  days 
which  precede  it,  an  epithet  most  expressive  and  preg- 
nant of  all,  homesicky  season.  A  genius  indeed  must 
he  have  been  who  called  it  first  by  name.  Naming  it 
did  much  toward  adding  to  it  those  characteristics 
which  it  lacked.  For  nameless,  it  is  a  dull,  plain,  pro- 


276  MISCELLANEOUS  ARTICLES. 

saic  succession  of  rainy  days  ;  everything  is  dark,  every 
body  subdued  and  all  nature  seems  shrouded  in  a  half 
mourning  gray.  But  add  to  these  the  characteristics 
which  the  mind  so  readily  supplies  when  a  name  has 
prepared  for  them  a  nucleus  round  which  to  cluster, 
and  what  a  dismal  picture  do  we  have.  "  Rains  "  alone 
is  bad  enough,  for  mankind  inherits  from  its  ancestors 
since  the  flood,  a  dread  of  long  showers.  As  comes 
down  the  rain,  down  sinks  the  barometer  of  our  feel- 
ings, and  three  or  four  days  of  wet  weather  with  its 
necessary  accompaniments  of  darkness,  mud,  wetness 
and  general  laziness  induced  by  the  difficulty  of  getting 
from  place  to  place,  will  make  the  most  successful 
optimist  descend  to  a  cynicism  or  at  least  render  him  a 
follower  of  Heraclitus.  But  now  add  the  qualifying 
word — "Freshman,"  and  of  all  compounds  you  will 
have  the  most  hopeless.  To  the  Freshman  himself  it 
is  a  most  cheering  thought  that  this  is  his  special  sea- 
son ;  for  this,  he  is  responsible.  It  is  looked  upon  as 
something  he  brought  with  him ;  a  Pandora's  Box, 
which  he  himself  has  opened.  He  fancies  the  Senior 
stalking  solemnly  and  gloomily  along,  blames  him  for 
it  all  as  he  wraps  his  dripping  ulster  more  closely  about 
him  and  pulls  his  favorite  old  white  hat  into  a  still  more 
ridiculous  shape.  He  cannot  but  feel  it  is  scarcely  fair 
that  he  who  suffers  the  most  should  be  held  responsible 
for  it  all.  Aside  from  this  self-reproach,  however,  can 
anything  more  gloomy  and  hopeless  be  imagined  than 
the  lonely  Freshman  during  these  rainy  days  ? 

You,  perhaps,  have  had  time  to  become  accustomed 
to  the  vagaries  of  New  Haven  weather,  from  the  season 
when  all  those  elegant  brick  pavements  are  hid  beneath 
a  smooth  sheet  of  ice,  to  the  sweltering,  thirsty  days 
during  which  Traeger  is  par  excellence,  the  student's 


FRESHMAN   RAINS.  277 

friend  ;  but  he  has  had  no  experiences  of  its  weather 
save  pleasant  ones.  It  is  natural  his  imagination  should 
picture  the  campus  as  bathed  in  warm  sunlight  with  the 
alumni  tent  always  standing  ready  for  his  reception, 
with  its  free  lemonade  in  the  center.  For  this  is  the 
picture  he  has  carried  with  him  throughout  the  summer  ; 
remembering  the  long  lines  of  cigarette-fiends  upon  the 
fence,  he  thinks  fondly  of  his  "  white-paper"  and  imagines 
that  he,  too,  will  be  now  left  in  peace  to  enjoy  that  joy- 
ous student-life ;  with  its  "  Chummy,  hand  me  the 
cigars,"  or  "  Come,  lads,  let's  for  a  lark,"  or  some 
equally  likely  and  natural  conception  of  his  daily  con- 
versation. He  expects  to  meet  his  Steerforth,  or  Pen- 
dennis,  or  Grey,  or  Drysdale,  or  Hardy,  instead  of  Tom 
Robinson  and  Bill  Tompkins.  His  fall  is  somewhat 
sudden,  reminding  one  of  a  plunge  into  a  cold  bath  of 
realities  ;  and  when  to  this  is  added  a  cold  shower-bath 
— the  result  will  depend  upon  his  temper.  Finding, 
at  his  present  state  of  progress,  that  college  is  but  a 
large  school,  that  the  "collegians"  are  but  his  old 
school-fellows,  and  to  some  the  most  painful  surprise 
of  all,  finding  he  must  work  harder  than  he  ever  before 
imagined  against  a  competition  which  (to  quote  "  Four 
Years  at  Yale ")  he  "  never  before  dreamed  of,"  it  is 
likely,  if  he  be  of  womanish  or  romantic  stuff,  that  nos- 
talgia will  claim  him  for  its  own  ;  or  if  of  a  different  dis- 
position, he  may  learn  to  play  penny-ante  and  say  damn. 
But  I  hope  not.  Imagine  yourself  in  his  position,  or 
(if  you  prefer  Anglo-Saxon)  put  yourself  in  his  place. 
Conceive  first  the  Freshman's  room  ;  with  its  cylinder 
stove  which  has  such  a  bad  habit  of  going  out  nights  ; 
his  sofa,  small,  narrow  and  inhospitable ;  his  rocking- 
chair  and  table,  which  handed  down  from  older  genera- 
tions, continually  remind  him  of  his  newness  ;  and 


278  MISCELLANEOUS   ARTICLES. 

finally  his  student-lamp — oh,  his  student-lamp,  with  its 
flickering,  enough  to  bring  tears  to  any  eyes  ;  its  goings 
out,  just  at  the  most  critical  moments  ;  its  unstable 
equilibrium,  enough  in  itself  to  occupy  an  able-bodied 
man's  full  time.  Why,  a  student-lamp  is  a  fiend  incar- 
nate, and  ought  only  to  be  sold  with  a  lavatory,  nail- 
brush, thousand  pound  weight  (to  fasten  it  down),  rub- 
ber shade,  malleable  glass  chimney,  another  lamp  to 
give  light,  a  regulator,  and  a  boy  to  tend  it.  And  even 
then  the  odds  would  be  about  forty  to  one  that  it  would 
blow  up,  catch  fire  and  have  to  be  thrown  out  of  the 
window.  Excuse  the  digression,  but  a  student-lamp  is 
a  hobby  of  mine. 

Add  to  this  already  desolate  room,  the  Freshman-year 
curriculum,  the  awful  thought  of  Sophomores,  the  gen- 
eral feeling  of  having  lost  your  individuality  and  of  be- 
ing of  no  particular  use  to  anyone,  especially  yourself, 
and  place  a  small  Freshman  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
studying  the  sensuous  Euclid,  while  the  fire  is  dying 
out  and  the  distant  howling  of  the  belated  Sophomore 
is  heard  in  the  distance.  Having  thus  prepared  your 
,  subject,  turn  on  the  rain.  The  result  will  be  a  letter 
home  somewhat  to  the  following  effect : 


YALE  COLLEGE, . 

My  Respected  Parent  : 

Would  my  temporary  return  to  the  paternal  man- 
sion at  all  disconcert  your  plans? 

Your  respectful  Son, 


The  result  of  which  will  be  seen  in  a  few  days  on  the 
receipt  by  mail  of  a  package  containing  a  few  articles, 
as  follows :  A  comforter  marked  "  From  Mother,"  a 
check  for  $1.50  signed  by  the  respected  head  of  his 


FRESHMAN   RAINS.  279 

noble  house,  a  pen-wiper  marked  "  From  Sister  Jane," 
and  "  The  Printer  Boy,"  inside  the  fly  leaf  of  which 
may  be  found  the  following  legend  :  "To  Johnnie,  from 
his  affectionate  Teacher,  Mary  Bodgers."  Do  not  scoff 
at  this,  'tis  the  affection  of  faithful  hearts  ;  but  some- 
how it  doesn't  prevent  "  B "  from  flunking  him,  just 

the  same,  in  the  morning.  But  bear  up,  O  ye  Fresh- 
man, it  will  not  last ;  we  have  all  been  through  it  and 
thoroughly  sympathize  with  you  in  your  trouble.  Buy 
an  ulster,  steal  a  Sophomore's  hat  and  defy  the  ele- 
ments ;  letting  not  the  storm  without  ruffle  the  calm 
serenity  within. 


"Backe  and  side  go  bare,  go  bare, 
Both  foot  and  hande  go  colde  ; 
But,  bellye,  God  sende  thee  good  ale  yenough, 
Whether  it  be  newe  or  olde." 

— BISHOP  STILL. 

IT  has  long  been  the  custom  when  a  great  public  ser- 
vant retires  from  active  life,  to  speak  of  his  past  services 
and  to  wish  him  happiness  in  his  retirement.  This  is, 
therefore,  a  most  fitting  time  to  write  a  few  words  about 
that  illustrious  servant  of  Yale,  Frank  Moriarty. 

Mr.  Moriarty's  aim  in  life  has  been  to  contribute  to 
the  happiness  of  man,  and  he  considered  keeping  an 
ale-house  the  best  way  of  accomplishing  his  aim.  Then, 
having  served  his  generation  faithfully,  he  retired  for  a 
while  into  seclusion.  It  used  to  be  his  delight  to  be 
surrounded  by  the  jovial  youths  pouring  down  liba- 
tions to  Bacchus.  His  nights  were  most  pleasant  when 
he  saw  his  salon  filled  with  the  wits  of  the  college ;  and 
as  the  wits  used  to  congregate  here  in  great  numbers,  his 
walls  were  ever  resounding  with  the  boisterous  laughter 
of  youths  free  from  all  care. 

Among  these  crowds  there  was  great  diversity  of 
character,  and  their  character  and  behavior  were  indi- 
cated by  their  size.  A  party  of  two  or  three  was  con- 
templative generally.  They  conversed  in  a  low  tone, 
and  never  joked.  Their  heads  were  close  together  and 
secrets  were  unbosomed,  ambitious  schemes  announced, 
personal  triumphs  and  failures  discussed.  Then  as 


MORIARTY'S.  281 

they  drank  more  ale,  they  became  somewhat  warmer 
in  their  talk ;  drunkards  were  denounced,  enemies 
condemned  as  fools,  friends  extolled,  and  other  like 
topics  of  conversation  indulged  in.  Such  were  the 
happy  evenings  close  friends  enjoyed,  and  such  a  place 
was  Moriarty's  to  them. 

There  was  a  second  crowd  about  which  I  dislike  to 
speak.  This  crowd  was  usually  composed  of  about 
five  or  six  men  ;  these  gentlemen  were  extremists  in 
pleasure.  They  usually  entered  with  unsteady  steps,  and 
their  clamorous  demand  for  liquor  showed  plainly  their 
condition.  Their  conduct  always  proved  them  to  be 
beyond  control.  They  shouted_  with  great  vigor,  and 
their  curses  were  disagreeable  to  hear.  They  were  sel- 
dom sitting  still,  but  on  the  contrary  were  continually 
rising  up  to  shake  hands  with  new-comers.  It  is  a 
peculiar  shake  of  the  hands  which  drunken  fellows  al- 
ways give,  for  they  will  never  stop  till  their  friends 
see  the  need  of  a  forcible  separation.  Undoubtedly  we 
have  all  seen  such  crowds  at  Moriarty's  and  therefore 
the  narration  of  their  intemperance  would,  if  continued 
farther,  become  offensive. 

The  third  and  last  set  that  used  to  come  together  at 
Mory's  was  the  largest  in  number  and  the  grandest  in 
behavior.  It  consisted  of  about  thirty  men.  For  the 
use  of  these  crowds  Mr.  Moriarty  generously  surren- 
dered his  two  parlors  on  the  second  floor.  Then  what 
a  night  was  there  !  "  0  nodes  coenaque  dedm  /"  The 
two  long  tables  are  arranged,  and  an  eager  crowd  gather 
round.  The  generous  host  of  the  evening  rises  and 
shouts  to  Cook  to  bring  up  an  immense  number  of 
ales,  hot-scotches  and  ciders.  For  I  would  remark,  that 
there  were  always  some  gentlemen  in  those  crowds  not 
yet  of  age,  and  these  were  the  ones  who  took  cider.  There 


282  MISCELLANEOUS   ARTICLES. 

follows  a  sumptuous  feast  of  Golden  Bucks,  Welsh 
Rarebits,  Sardines,  and  this  is  succeeded  by  the  cigars. 
Such  feasts  were  the  gods'  in  ancient  days,  with  the  ex- 
ception that  the  goddesses  were  always  present,  while 
in  these  days  the  goddesses  are  always  wanting.  And 
now  begins  the  singing  ;  every  one  feels  in  duty  bound 
to  sing  in'as  loud  a  tone  as  possible,  and  the  air  is  rent 
with  hymns  of  praise  to  the  presiding  God  of  Wine. 
For  a  moment  there  is  a  lull  in  the  storm,  and  no  sound 
is  heard  save  the  clash  of  the  knives  and  forks,  with 
here  and  there  the  merry  tinkle  of  a  pewter  mug  and  a 
glass.  Then  again  a  song  bursts  forth,  louder,  more 
boisterous,  more  riotous  than  before.  One  and  all  are 
now  in  a  wild  seance  of  pleasure,  and  can  scarcely  be 
distinguished  in  the  midst  of  the  huge  volumes  of 
smoke.  Here  let  us  leave  them,  happy,  good-natured, 
on  a  royal  frolic.  Many  a  time  has  Moriarty  seen  all 
this  and  enjoyed  it  keenly.  As  he  walked  down  the 
stairs  from  the  second  floor,  he  must  have  thought  what 
rich  humor  was  his,  when  he  painted  over  the  front-door 
the  golden  letters,  "  Quiet  House." 

While  writing  so  much  of  the  men  who  patronized 
the  Quiet  House,  I  must  not  omit  Mrs.  Moriarty.  For 
she  formed  no  small  part  of  this  establishment,  and 
always  performed  her  duty  right  matronly.  Her  appear- 
ance one  would  hardly  call  handsome,  but  her  face  ex- 
pressed good  nature.  Her  manners  were  rather  re- 
served. She  seemed  to  have  an  exalted  idea  of  her  high 
station  behind  the  bar,  for  she  was  never  known  to  de- 
mean herself  by  handing  around  the  ale,  but  steadily 
maintained  her  position  at  the  pumps,  and  made  Cook 
and  her  maid  wait  on  us.  Mrs.  Moriarty  was  of  a  size 
that  one  admired  not  a  little  ;  short,  thick,  and  im- 
mensely broad.  She  and  her  husband  were  so  stout, 


MORIARTY'S.  283 

that  when  both  were  behind  the  bar,  a  third  person  was 
never  known  to  enter  it. 

Thus  much  for  Mrs.  Moriarty,  and  now  to  say  a  few 
words  about  her  assistant,  the  decorous  maid  with  the 
chaste  countenance.  Her  duty  was  cooking  Welsh 
Rarebits.  She  was  always  treated  with  profound  re- 
spect ;  but  whether  this  proceeded  from  the  good  man- 
ners of  the  students  or  the  want  of  beauty  in  the  maid, 
would  be  hard  to  tell.  But  however  this  may  be,  there 
never  occurred  any  such  thing  as  Tom  Browning  it  with 
her.  For  I  am  sure  she  worshipped  at  "  Chaste 
Minerva's  "  shrine. 

Last  among  the  subordinates  of  this  house  was  Cook, 
oo  being  pronounced  like  oo  in  fool  ;  but  as  he  was 
generally  considered  a  fool,  it  is  not  proper  to  write 
much  about  him.  He  was  remarkable  for  nothing  ex- 
cept his  low  forehead  and  sorrowful  expression  of  face, 
as  if  he  had  met  with  a  serious  calamity  in  his  youth. 
It  is  sufficient  to  say  Mr.  Moriarty  always  treated  him 
with  such  contempt  as  Jupiter  undoubtedly  did  Gany- 
mede. 

Such  was  Frank  Moriarty's  Quiet  House.  Such  was 
the  favorite  ale-house  of  Yale  for  many  years.  Not 
only  the  dissipated  men  met  here,  but  the  sober  and 
well-behaved  gathered  here,  at  times.  There  is,  there- 
fore, a  grateful  remembrance  of  this  place  in  the  hearts 
of  all  Yalensians.  For  one  seldom  forgets  the  spot 
where  he  has  spent  happy  hours. 


Smoking. 

Do  you  see  how  West  Rock  stands  white  with  snow  ? 
The  trees,  too,  can  no  longer  bear  their  load,  and  the 
river's  course  has  been  checked  by  the  sharp  frost. 
Turn  on  the  steam-heater  to  thaw  the  cold,  and  pour 
out,  O  Mrs.  Moriarty,  an  ardent  liquid  from  the  Cale- 
donian jar.  Thus  would  Horace  sing  on  the  approach 
of  the  winter  term.  The  concluding  lines  about  the 
virgines  ;  or  rather,  as  with  more  truth,  the  poet  himself 
remarks,  puellae  risus  ab  angulo  Church  and  Chapel 
streets,  he  would  be  obliged  to  omit :  since  at  this 
season  of  the  year  the  lenes  sub  noctem  susurri  are  heard 
less  frequently  in  the  streets  of  this  city  of  elms.  But 
still,  we  moderns  have  one  resource  which  was  denied 
to  the  children  of  antiquity.  That  their  deities  posssess- 
ed  it,  but  kept  it  through  a  mean  jealousy  to  themselves, 
there  is  little  doubt ;  for  surely,  if  the  idols  of  the  In- 
dian savages  were  delighted  by  their  worshipers'  puff- 
ing fragrant  tobacco  smoke  into  their  nostrils,  the 
dwellers  on  lofty  Olympus  could  not  have  been  de- 
prived of  the  greatest  of  human  blessings.  And  when 
my  gifted  friend  enquires,  "  was  that  nectar,  beer,  or 
whiskey-toddy?"  I  answer,  neither;  but  the  very  com- 
position of  the  word  proves  it  to  have  been  nicotine. 

What  a  revolution  in  the  whole  range  of  theif  litera- 
ture would  the  Romans  have  experienced,  had  they  pos- 
sessed tobacco  !  If  Tityrus,  when  extended  under  the 
shade  of  that  wide-spreading  beech-tree,  had  puffed 


SMOKING.  285 

away  at  a  good  clay  dudeen  filled  with  cut-plug,  instead 
of  cultivating  the  sylvestran  muse  on  an  oaten  pipe, 
how  much  more  satisfaction  would  he  have  occasioned 
to  the  passers-by,  as  well  as  to  the  generations  of  school- 
boys who  have  toiled  in  silent  anguish,  or  muttered 
curses  not  loud  but  deep  over  the  praises  of  Amaryllis. 
Imagine  the  scathing  scorn  with  which  Juvenal  would 

have  pursued  the  cigarette-fiend,  and  rejoice,  Oh , 

that  you  did  not  live  in  his  day.     But  Horace,  dear  old 

Horace,  whom  even  two  terms  under  "G "  could 

not  entirely  deprive  of  charm,  how  he  would  have  rev- 
eled in  its  enjoyment  !  What  an  exquisite  ode,  "Ad 
meant  marts  spuman"  would  he  have  left  us  !  With 
what  gusto  would  he  have  added  a  box  of  Havanas  to 
the  list  of  good  things  which  he  requires  of  Thaliarchus  ; 
but,  unfortunately,  he  lived  in  an  age  of  darkness,  and 
his  sum-mum  bonum  was  a  judicious  mixture  of  Falern- 
ian  and  philosophy. 

"Oh,  lived  he  to  recant  that  wild  opinion, 

And  sing,  as  I  would  that  I  could  sing,  of  yore, 

I  was  not  born,  alas,  the  Muses'  minion  ; 
I'm  not  poetical,  or  even  blue. 

And  he,  we  know,  but  strives  on  waxen  pinion, 
Whoe'er  he  be,  that  entertains  the  view 
Of  emulating  Pindar,  and  will  be 
Sponsor  at  last  to  some  now  nameless  sea." 

Evoe  Tobacco  !  Evoe  Tobacco  !  I  cry,  as  I  prostrate  my- 
self before  thy  shrine.  Why  are  thy  praises  neglected, 
while  in  song  Bacchus  reigns  supreme?  Much  more 
worthy  of  praise  art  thou.  From  thee  we  obtain  no 
wild  desire  to  betray  our  dearest  secrets  to  the  first- 
comer  :  no  rage  for  battle  ;  no  racking  headache  the 
next  morning.  Far  otherwise.  Thou  inspires!  discre- 
tion ;  thou  promotest  secrecy ;  even  among  the  un- 
tutored savages  didst  thou  deserve  the  title  of  "  the 


286  MISCELLANEOUS   ARTICLES. 

pipe  of  peace."  All  praise  to  noble  Sir  Walter  Raleigh. 
Greater  glory  deserves  he  for  introducing  thee  to  civil- 
ized mankind,  than  for  all  his  victories  over  the  Span- 
iards. Had  I  been  Pope,  to  which  position  modest 
merit  but  rarely  attains,  then  had  I  excommunicated  the 
cruel  king  who  beheaded  him  and  wrote  a  diatribe 
against  the  plant ;  while,  heretic  as  he  was,  St.  Walter 
Nicotius  had  headed  the  calendar,  a  distinction  which 
he  well  earned  by  his  narrow  escape  from  martyrdom 
by  drowning,  when  his  servant,  mistaking  the  smoke 
which  issued  from  his  nostrils  for  a  general  conflagra- 
tion of  his  clothes,  attempted  to  extinguish  it  by  delug- 
ing him  with  water.  Richly  did  he  deserve,  with  com- 
pound interest,  the  sum  which  Nero  offered  to  the 
inventor  of.  a  new  pleasure. 

I  have  tried  the  plant  in  all  its  forms, — the  insidious 
cigarette,  the  fragrant  Havana,  the  mild  Manila,  the 
heart-comforting  pipe.  I  have  tasted  all.  I  have  puffed 
the  Irish  dudeen  ;  I  have  kissed  the  lips  of  the  ma- 
chine constructed  of  horn  and  porcelain,  so  dear  to 
the  natives  of  the  Fatherland  ;  I  have  inhaled,  at  the 
Centennial,  tembek  from  the  soothing  nargilay,  which 
the  cross-legged  Turk  enjoys,  reclining  on  his  divan  ; 
I  have  watched  the  delicate  cream-color  mantle  on  the 
snowy  bosom  of  a  meerschaum,  but  I  still  remain  faith- 
ful to  my  first  love,  the  sweet  briarwood. 

The  cigarette,  I  regret  to  be  obliged  to  condemn. 
Not  entirely,  however,  but  merely  as  a  venial  sin.  That 
nymph  has  her  charms,  I  confess  ;  for  a  neophyte  she  is 
perfection.  But  she  is  too  jealous  in  her  exactions  on 
her  votaries.  She  sets  her  seal  on  the  thumbs  of  their 
left  hands.  She  requires  them  to  wear,  in  token  of  her 
sovereignty,  a  coating  of  burnt  paper  and  nicotine  upon 
their  lungs.  Forty  or  fifty  times  a  day  must  they  sacri- 


SMOKING.  287 

fice  to  her  shrine.  Unhappy  are  they  when  away  ;  not 
satisfied,  when  propitiating  her.  Praises  be  unto  Zeus  ! 
I  have  escaped  from  the  thraldom  of  Circe. 

After  a  good  dinner — a  thing  which,  alas,  one  but 
rarely  obtains  in  this  home  of  the  Muses — after  a  good 
dinner, — one  of  those  days  which  are  to  be  marked  with 
a  white  stone  in  this  barren  desert  life — I  acknowledge, 
that  to  obtain  the  acme  of  human  happiness,  a  good 
cigar  is  absolutely  necessary.  Then,  with  your  two 
lower  waistcoat  buttons  open  and  your  hands  folded 
you  bid  defiance  to  fortune,  and  say,  with  calm  satisfac- 
tion, "  Fate  cannot  touch  me  ;  I  have  dined  to-day." 
But  too  frequent  use  blunts  its  enjoyment ;  and  you 
will  never  find  in  a  confirmed  cigar-smoker  the  calm 
placidity,  the  unruffled  philosophy  of  one  who  cherishes 
a  pipe.  For  the  man  who  is  without  this  inestimable 
companion  in  life's  troubles,  I  always  feel  a  sincere 
pity.  It  is  ever  useful.  Are  you  cheerful?  it  adds  to 
your  joy.  Are  you  sad  ?  it  consoles  you.  Better  than  a 
wife,  it  divides  your  sorrows  without  quadrupling  your 
expenses.  It  never  slanders  you  behind  your  back.  It 
never  betrays  the  secrets  you  confide  to  its  ear. 

You  are  feeling  blue.  Your  tactful  friend,  Candour 
has  just  informed  you  that  X.  has  stated  his  opinion 
that  you  are  an  ass.  Having  always,  heretofore,  con- 
sidered X.  an  admirer  of  your  genius,  this  announce- 
ment inspires  you  with  a  conviction  of  the  falsity  of 
mankind.  You  declaim  on  the  vanity  of  life  in  general, 
and  college-life  in  particular.  The  conviction  that  this 
is  a  world  of  sin  and  misery  is  forced  upon  your  mind, 
and,  on  reaching  your  room,  you  throw  yourself  down 
on  the  sofa,  feeling  utterly  dissatisfied  with  things  in 
general.  A  few  puffs  and  how  everything  changes  ! 
The  halo  of  smoke  which  soon  surrounds  you  magni- 


288  MISCELLANEOUS  ARTICLES. 

fies  the  virtues,  while  it  shadows  the  faults  of  mankind. 
Everything  seems  to  smooth  itself  out.  What  do  you 
care  for  the  opinion  of  an  Aleck  like  X  ?  Anyway  the 
country  isn't  going  to  the  devil,  even  if  Tilden  is  elect- 
ed. You  fall  to  castle-building,  or  reminiscences  of  old 
times,  with  unruffled  spirits.  Then,  too,  the  habits  of 
meditation  which  its  use  inspires.  Even  my  friend 
Placidus,  who  takes  more  solid  enjoyment  from  a  pipe 
than  any  man  I  know,  says  that  he  never  watches  the 
last  ring  of  smoke  curl  up  to  the  ceiling  and  then  vanish 
into  infinity,  without  being  irresistibly  reminded,  "sic 
transit  gloria  mundi ;"  how  the  thoughts  of  the  friends 
you  have  won  and  lost,  the  triumphs  and  reverses  you 
have  experienced,  during  your  ownership  of  it,  rise  be- 
fore you.  It  is  the  only  combination  of  comfort,  ro- 
mance, and  mental  discipline  which  I  ever  met  with. 

But  I  might  prattle  on  forever  in  praise  of  this  de- 
lightful employment,  did  I  not  know,  gentle  reader,  that 
I  have  already  too  sorely  tried  your  patience.  In  con- 
clusion, let  me  only  advise  you,  have  you  been  rejected 
by  a  girl,  or  a  society,  or  both  ;  has  the  hand  of  the 
Lord  or  of  the  Faculty  been  heavy  upon  you  ;  have  any 
of  these,  or  have  still  weightier  misfortunes  rendered 
you  a  prey  to  despondency,  do  not  attempt  to  drown 
your  sorrows  in  the  flowing-bowl,  but  try  a  remedy  more 
efficacious  than  any  to  be  found  in  the  three  volumes  of 
Robert  Burton's  delightful  book,  "Nunc  fumo  pellite 


Pt, 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW. 


A     001  003  006     2 


